The Sound You Left
by Black White and Superstitious
Summary: Humans are so afraid to move on; the deceased linger where they died, the living pine after people who have damaged them. Len Kagamine is cursed with the power to hear them all. And unfortunately, he's as human as they are. Now a dead girl has his heart in a vice grip when he doesn't even know what she wants. /suicide mentions, also a bit of drabble
1. The Listener

_The girl lives._

 _The sky is white. The air is black._

 _Stars cover the ground._

 _Everything burns, her skin, her eyes, her nose and throat._

 _She coughs, coughs and coughs and coughs, she swallows, she coughs._

 _A broad gust of wind slices through the air._

 _She breathes._

 _Precious. Fleeting._

 _The girl lives._

* * *

The music was garbled and washed out in this room. The real celebration continued upstairs. Perhaps they had already gone ahead and commenced a game of truth or dare. It didn't sound like a bad idea. At least, not to them.

Len didn't know why they put a clock in the den, but he knew it was a cruel reason of fate, not what anyone said.

It was such an angry sound, the second hand rattling, boring a hole into his mind.

He glimpsed at the moon, a sliver of white in the sky. Powdery clouds locked the stars away. He could swear - if it weren't for the damn chirp of that clock - that an owl might be hooting out there, rustling it's wings with discomfort. An omen.

Because such things were far from good. Things as in this room, this special power. This girl.

Not that he was extremely worried. He didn't know her, and as far as he knew she didn't pose a threat. She was surprisingly small for someone her age. So petite that she could pass for a thirteen year old. But she was certainly older than him! He didn't ask her, he only knew it was true. Something wise whispered in the depths of her cool green eyes. She carried herself like a lady of substance, her spine rod-straight, her white dress clean, lacy, without a single wrinkle. She had her legs tucked carefully beneath her.

If he had to say something about her was childish, it was her hairstyle. Tight, neat twintails, the kind a mother does for her daughter before the first day of school.

He wondered what led her to this house. She could have actually come here for a good reason, but she struck him as so odd that he couldn't imagine that she was well acquainted with any of his friends. The party wasn't invite only, strictly speaking. Only if some unknown were to wander in, Rinto would redirect them with a gruff pair of hands and a gravelly shout.

Rinto was tough like that.

Len wasn't.

When he swallowed, his throat felt sticky and gummy. He scratched the back of his neck, trailing his eyes across the black tv screen. There was a duller, lesser reflection of the night sky.

He didn't sense much from her except for the eerie lack of emotion. She was more polite than most he'd ever met.

Less urgency. More grace.

But then, that was a very bad sign. If she didn't talk, she would just be sitting in his home for no good reason.

That would drive him insane, the mystery and the slight fear that all unknown things evoke.

He continued scratching at his neck, the stray golden locks from his ponytail bugging him a little. She night have followed one of the guests here. It was really awful to think that any of his friends had created a ghost. They were lively, friendly, crude and creative. They were kids. How had they possibly contributed to this girl's untimely death?

She wasn't like the ghost in his staircase - a fading shadow, someone who had been pushed long ago and still whispered about it. She looked flesh and blood, minus her ethereal glow. Fresh off the deathbed. New.

He couldn't pick the most scary thing about her. Was it her age, her proximity, her calm? Hell, was it the worldly emerald gaze that refused to touch him?

In the back of his mind, he realized all of his staring might be rude. If she was as present on this plane as he was, perhaps she saw him staring clearly, and she was made nervous about it.

He averted his eyes. "Killing them for this," he muttered, however in inappropriate. "Killing them for making this one." Even though, deep inside, he couldn't imagine that they had made her. He doubted.

"Are you here for someone...?" He whispered, inclining his head.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

"Are you lost?"

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

 _Bad sign. Okay, not bad, like, Amityville bad. But I can't just let her watch Late Night News with my mom forever, can I? She's gotta make like a banana and_

"Hello." Len launched himself from his seat on the sofa. Her delicate lips had moved, and an airy whisper had flown from them; "Hello."

Progress. "H-hi," he returned, and then he winced, "h-hello."

She repeated herself once more, her eyes tilting upward. Her lashes flickered out of the way and he saw her glazed green eyes once more. "Hello."

"Y-yeah, hello."

"Help."

"Okay," he said quickly, leaping to his opportunity.

"Hello," she added. "Is anyone there?"

"Yes," he assured her. She made eye contact, but she seemed so far away. She was somewhere else, looking deep into the distance.

"Help me."

"Okay," he told her, "what do you need help with?" He gestured forward, showing her his palms. He shifted from foot to foot, his entire body throbbing with an elevated pulse.

"I'm hurt," she said slowly. A twinkle blazed her eyes. Then she seemed to flash silver, just for a moment. A color more pure than the dim sky.

"Hurt?" His brow crumpled. Poor girl, poor thing. She didn't know, and she was so new, and so young.

There wasn't any blood on her, though...? Accidents were more apparent than this.

"Please help," she said, her tone still smooth as a pond. Her tranquility chilled him.

"Help you how?"

"Mommy," she said.

"Daddy," she said.

"Help," she said.

"How?" He demanded, restraining himself. The excitement in his veins was rushing to his head. He could see the clean edge of every shape in the dark. The volume of his voice bubbled a bit. Good thing he could hold back his noise better than he could hold back his body. His reactions were more physical than anything.

He was just too good at getting out of people's way.

"It's so cold, it hurts," she murmured. Her silhouette shimmered, so brilliant, so white. He stepped back again.

He couldn't swallow anymore. He felt like he had been stuffed full of cotton. And the way he spoke, ejecting air, was no better than a wheeze, "what hurts? Where are you?"

"YO, LEN. WHEN ARE YOU COMING BACK?"

At this point, yes, as he fell over the coffee table, Len did allow himself to shriek. He had an exceptionally high voice for some boy. One would assume that his voice started cracking once he turned fourteen, but alas, it was just his steady scream that brutally stabbed his brother's ears.

Rinto clapped his hands over said ears. "Dude, chill! Rin brought the cake upstairs!" His slim blue eyes were squeezed in agony. In other, less silly circumstances, he would look poignant. If he were a ghost, that pain would be sealed on him for eternity and Len would feel really bad.

With no less composure than before, Len scrambled off of his back. He shook his head. He rubbed his throat and glanced back at the girl -

\- the empty space where the girl had been.

"You came out of nowhere," Len decided to say, "so you startled me."

"You look like you saw a g..." at this point, Rinto, the elder of the two, bit his tongue to conceal his ironic choice of words.

Len struggled a bit more, blinking hard. "You're really loud."

Rinto tugged at his white beanie and knelt beside his sibling. "And here I was, thinking it was Stair-Bro again…?"

"Stair-Bro is stuck to the stairs…she was new."

Rinto jerked. He was tough, immediately on edge, ready to defend even though he didn't know what he would be put up against. He was too quick to take up an adult role as protector, although they were the same age. "She? Is she dangerous? Where is she?"

"No, no. No - you scared me. I just kind of saw her...she's not that old at all."

"What the - come on, are you that scared?" Rinto scoffed, or he laughed. His brow was pressed with nervousness. He brushed a tear off of his brother's cheek. "Don't be like that, man, people die every day. Don't act like you killed her. Same shit, different toilet. Let's go eat cake."

Len whimpered. He felt like they were six years old again. "I'm not scared. We've got seven already. I'm not scared to see her." His cheeks were beginning to get red-hot. _This is stupid. Of course it's normal. People die. People die every day._

"There's nothing wrong with being scared. It's banana-chocolate-chip, by the way. Don't you want any? Rin spent forever on it." His stronger hand wrapped around Len's skinny bicep. There was a tinge of desperation in the force that he used.


	2. Let Go

He swelled with joy, rippled with giddiness. They stood toe to toe.

She pressed her forehead to his. There was eternity between them. The world was a thousand, or a hundred thousand, or a million miles away.

 _This is alright,_ she told him.

 **But I'm losing you.** The words flowed, no hitch, no hesitation. They were foreign. Pessimism shouldn't come to this place, and yet he brought it.

 _Hold my hand,_ she beckoned.

 **God! You're so cold!** Pain raced up his arm, coiling around his bones. It was followed by a brutal numbness. He was seized by fear.

 _And you're warm._ She smiled. She flashed, she bloomed. Turquoise danced with every shade of green in her eyes. She was pink with vitality. Her hair shone like water.

As brilliant as the springtime, as icy as the winter. She put peace in his heart where concern was supposed to be. _See, you're good, Len._

 **No, that's not true.**

 _I know it is. If you weren't so good, you would let me go._

Everything was heavy. His limbs were stone, his eyelids were falling under some invisible weight. He was losing time. Soon he wouldn't be able to see her.

His eyes watered.

 **I'm just selfish.** His chest was pressed down. He couldn't use his lungs. His fingers were falling from her hold.

 **Hey, don't you let go either...**

...

 _..._

 _You'll come get me, won't you?_ Her laughter is the brightest note, the sweetest music.

But where is she? She has left him in the void - he glances down -

\- with palms full of freezing cold blood.

* * *

He woke up soaked in cold sweat. All that he did was open his eyes. He recognized his own ceiling and stayed in his bed.

There wasn't enough fear to shoot up in bed screaming. His heart didn't pound, he body didn't shake. It was too much to cry. He lifted his arms and inspected his hands. For all the time that he stared, they remained clean.

But certainly his heart ached, and he gave a shuddering sigh, and he knew the girl was haunting him.


	3. Grip

_The air is hot. It hisses._

 _Pressure on her abdomen. Weight on her belly._

 _Click, the pressure vanishes._

 _The girl crashes into a sea of glass, slicing her cheeks and her arms._

 _She still breathes. Deep. Hungry. A full-faced moon watches her fade._

* * *

The den was large, but most people preferred the Game Room, where there was a Wii and a computer. Lavender made people feel more welcome, so the walls were that gentle color.

Friends left it a bit of a mess last night, with paper plates and such scattered on the chairs. Len had picked up the last soda-stained red cup, and with that, his conscience was eased. There was a lesser sting in his spirit. While it was an opinion that made him feel old, Len thought that a useful task like cleaning was good for his morale. It proved especially true after a sleepless night.

He slung the plastic bag of trash over his shoulder, peeking at the curtains. The morning was glad simply to exist; such a blissful, golden sky.

He decided to open the window. Closet-Guy liked when a morning breeze could touch him. His moans were very loud for a dead man, but they seemed to fade greatly in the presence of the sun.

Len passed the open closet in question, where the shadowy Closet-Guy swayed on his noose. The ceiling creaked just above him. Len greeted him with the usual, a lukewarm "Good morning," and continued on us merry way to the kitchen.

He trekked through the hall, grazing his fingertips over the right wall. There was a single mirror above his head just next to the bathroom. He reached up to tap it, pleased that he was tall enough to reach the top of its black frame.

The old woman smiled into it, her chubby cheeks painted with rose. Len smiled back. Never mind that there was no woman outside of the mirror. Mirror-Lady was one of the nicer ones.

He sauntered past Stair-Bro, who lingered at the top step, murmuring incoherently.

His heel slipped off of the second step, sending him straight down on his ass. " _Crap_!" He screamed, his heart flying out of his throat. He never let go of the bag. And, thankfully, he didn't break his neck.

He glared up at the shadowy mist. Although he was too weak to have caused the fall, Len knew that Stair-Bro was keen to witness the misfortune of others. He was sadistic like that.

 _I'm not scared, though. I've known them for forever._

The lovely smell of breakfast beckoned him. As did the chatter of his mother and siblings, who had beaten him to the table.

Once he entered the kitchen, he dropped the plastic bag next to the bin and sat next to his sister, Rin. Without a care in the world, she left her hair wild and uncombed this morning. He couldn't even see her cyan eyes, a pair that were much like his own. Her feet kicked a steady rhythm against her chair leg. She grunted at him. Her plate consisted of cake and a slice of bacon.

"Is that a good idea?" He asked.

"Too much left over," she sighed, shoving a forkful into her mouth. Immediately he was struck by guilt, which crept into his appetite. He should probably help her finish the cake, too. Be a good brother.

Rinto slid into his seat across from them with a plate of hot eggs and toast. "You could spare it for dessert, you know."

"It'll just get staler."

"You'll make yourself sick," he warned. He turned to Len with startling speed. "And you - seriously, did you not sleep at all?"

There was no point in denying it. Dark, gloomy circles had filled under his eyes. Len glanced at the tiled floor where a sweeping glow made everything lovely. The warmth was a powerful contrast to the cold-looking lass that he remembered last night. Of course, in the dream...

At this point Rin snorted. She shoved wild tufts of blond from her face. "Who are you? Mom two-point-o?"

"Just so you know, I agree with him. The two of you need to care better for yourselves." Lily set a plate in front of her younger son and a glass of milk in front of her daughter. She smiled at them, even though it was more tired than cheerful. Before they had time to even comment, she spun back around and snapped the spatula up again.

Rinto allowed himself a smug grin. "If mom recognizes my authority, you should too." He took a swig of his orange juice.

"I can take care of myself," Len grumbled.

Rin narrowed her cat-like eyes, her teeth glinting as she showed them. "The way you take care of Closet-Guy, I'm sure." Her wickedness was a joke. She wanted to have fun, more than anything else. But she didn't choose her fun carefully.

For a moment Len wondered if maybe, inadvertently, she could someway, possibly cause someone to haunt him...His stomach grappled with sickness, almost eating itself alive.

"Are you guys still on about that morbid joke?" Lily called, her voice clambering over the crackle of frying bacon. She sounded drained as well, forever a weakening melody. Even though she spent their birthday party resting, she seemed to be losing power with every nap.

"That's just today's taste in comedy," Rinto insisted, cramming toast into his mouth.

"I wonder if we should ask a priest or something, to look at the place...there are, what, eight of them now?" She looked at Len, again pulling up a sickly smile for him.

He frowned and corrected her, "Seven," while he tried to lean into the chair. She had heard the stories so many times that her inaccurate guess was unnerving. No angle was comfortable. It was a bit of a pain, thinking about that girl from last night. He was fidgeting like a child again.

She transferred the last egg onto a clean dish. "I know that at least a few of them bother you," she said, sympathy touching her voice.

He watched the glistening meat on his plate. It was fragrant and inviting, but he couldn't bring himself to touch it. "...Dad said it was a stupid idea."

The spatula clattered on the pan. Every chair squeaked as each child stiffened, their heads raised to survey where her hand went next. Her fingers flicked with uncertainty. After a moment she turned the stove off, the gas hissing in defeat. It was such a fearful sound to Len. It always had been.

"I know. I was just wondering," Lily whispered, forcing the tremor in her voice so it would sound sound bit more like an incredulous giggle than the threat of a sob. Her back was eerily still.

Rinto cast him a knowing look, one that was accusatory and sympathetic altogether.

Rin kicked him under the table. He flinched, nonetheless accepting her punishment.

It almost hurt when he forced his hand to lift a fork.

"Has Kaito texted you?" Rin mumbled. In the lack of conversation that followed, Len came to realize that she was addressing him.

As such, he answered her as abruptly as he could. The times of his fork burst through a brightly colored yolk. "No."

She was back to striking her chair with her heel, this time with more leisure. "He wants to hang out," she clarified while she scooped some more cake into her mouth.

Len was aware that Kaito was more Rin's friend than anyone else's. They just seemed to have that pull on each other, and to Len, the length and nature of their discussions were a remarkable feat.

"Have fun," he said with a dry simper.

"He wants to hang out with _all of us_ ," she said, her voice rising as the crest of a wave. Intimidating, and surely as harsh as any tsunami as it fell and broke over his head.

Unprepared, he spluttered.

For Rinto it wasn't a challenge at all. "Tell him I'd love to - on a later date. Maybe Thursday? I've got something to do today."

The smaller girl shrugged her bare shoulders and remained watching her other brother.

"I-" Len coughed. Suddenly he wondered what he even wanted to do. He couldn't tell if he was trying to accept or decline, or even just trying to breathe, because oxygen fizzled out of his brain and he couldn't fathom.

"He probably just wants to stay home with me today," Rinto hummed, slapping his back. He gave the rejection for _him_ , so that _he_ wouldn't have to. Suddenly, Len was small, just a child, gazing up at grownups who used words he didn't understand.

But then it went back to normal. Len flinched and felt odd. He felt a little angry, something that scratched his calm mood.

"I want to go," he declared. "I'll text Neru to come." He withdrew, shuffling away from the hand that had landed between his shoulder blades.


	4. Throw

_Louder, louder, the intensity of the noise matches only the smell._

 _The girl moves mechanically, leaving her blood behind her. Her hands claw for freedom._

 _The cold grips her. Swallowing. Settling atop her small body, crushing._

 _She now knows she can scream._

* * *

Kaito swung his arm. Him and Len watched the stone fly, skidding across the waves before sinking into the depths of the green-gray body of water. A ghostly silhouette flickered over the ripples.

Len rubbed his eyes. Afterward, he has a prettier view of the still-very-ugly river, watching it slink under the bridge as it carried an array of decaying twigs. It seemed to shrink, to get closer to the riverbed every year. The trees around it were white and dry. A couple of geese fluttered around the bank, poking around fruitlessly.

On the street behind them, cars seemed so fast, so loud, creating such nasty perfumes of exhaust. Rin preferred to watch traffic. She was sitting on the rail, craning her neck up, gnawing on a bare popsicle stick. Every so often she would grin and holler, "punch-buggy red!" Then she would hop off of her seat and grab one of the boys. She had one hell of a left hook.

Kaito threw another stone, this time high over his head. It flew into a shrub. It was a casual mistake, but he turned away and started stretching so that he could avoid showing his embarrassment.

"Rinto does it best," he said, "but you guys are better than me at any rate."

"No, Len began, his voice falling in unison with Rin as she said, "Hell yea we are."

Kaito smirked. "Not better at Mario Kart, though."

At which point Rin tossed the stick at his face. "I told you I had a headache. It's not the same as a win!"

The blue-haired lad took it in stride, as he was good-natured and humble. That was how Len knew he had nothing to do with the dead girl.

"I'd ask for a rematch, but I don't think you guys want me back in the Game Room. Everyone left it in such a state. So I feel bad." Kaito leaned against the rail as well. He and Rin knew that it was reinforced by concrete and they had no concerns about it. Len watched in the corner of his eye as a shadow halted at this rail, barely a foot behind his sister. He reached behind his head and scratched his neck.

"It's okay, dude. You left, like, napkins." Rin dismissed his concerns while licking her palm, which was clearly still sticky. Her tongue was still cherry red.

"My mom would have butchered me if I let you guys do that!" The shadow rose up on top of the rail, standing at the edge. It's pause was wretched and drawn out. It seemed to make no noise, or else the cars really were too loud. The crumble of gravel, and the roar of engines, they silenced this person's final moments.

It turned its head toward him. He saw the motion, felt the cold of its empty gaze. Out of the grey, shadow shape, came a face. He was a gnarled, dirt-caked man with wild eyes all yellow and blood-shot. His winter jacket was torn to the seams, exposing a grimy sweater. Thick globs of blood clung to his wiry beard. Snowflakes bombarded every visible hair on his head. Not a sound escaped him, but there were words. He knew what he was saying then, what he was thinking on the edge of that world. _"It's too cold."_

Then the man plummeted, fading out of sight like smoke. The water down below continued in a lazy stream, unbroken by the fall. Len forgot long ago how deep the river was, but the fall alone was certainly not enough to kill someone. It was more likely to break a layer of ice. If someone sank through that, they could succumb to hypothermia, or drown. He didn't remember how long that took. His nails dug harder into his hairline.

"Our mom doesn't really go in there that much," the blonde shrugged, dropping her hands back on her knees. She squinted up at the sun. The bill of her white snapback was still not enough to protect her eyes. It was high noon.

"It must be nice," Kaito sighed, dragging his knuckles over his shining forehead. "Privacy, I mean. Huh, Len?"

"What?" Len turned back to his friend.

"Stop staring into space," Rin barked. Oh, how she wished she still had something to throw at him - he could see it in her face.

"I _wasn't_ \- it's fine. It isn't really private since everyone goes in there." Len clenched his teeth.

"True, true. Was it fun, though? Last night?"

"It felt weird having a birthday party." Len smiled sheepishly as he pulled a nice, flat stone from his pocket. He set it down on the flat top of the rail and waited.

Kaito was focused - he even leaned forward, just a little. "Your folks don't usually do that?"

"Our Dad was strict," Rin explained.

"Strict like mine?" Kaito joked, and it was a clear, simple joke - he wanted a firm bridge built between them. He wanted to create something pleasant.

"Just strict. It was fun - I thought everyone was going to eat the cake, but I guess banana isn't a national favorite." Len winced when she spoke, feeling her force the conversation the way a superhero forces metal in their hands. Finally, she noticed the stone and picked it up, holding it between her fingers. Her pink nail polish was beginning to chip in the corners.

Kaito never noticed the awkward feeling, but he was eager to follow her into a new topic. Len liked that he took initiative, he really did. He was the one who gathered most of their throwing stones.

It would be nicer if he was just a little bit more like that blue-haired boy. Or like anyone else. If he could manage himself better, and stop...seeing things.

He ignored another shadow that paced around them.

* * *

"We're hooooome!" Rin called, slamming the front door. She kicked off her converse. They bounced along the wall and landed in a wild pile with her rain boots and Adidas. She gasped at the air-conditioning, her skin a glistening red.

Rinto's footfalls thundered out of the kitchen. "Sssh!" He hissed. All of his hair was pulled into a small man-bun on the top of his head, something uncharacteristic and almost unusual on him. His tank-top was drenched in olive oil.

Rin's brow quirked, but she didn't say anything as she brushed past him.

"I take it you were having fun here?" Len asked softly, tugging his sneakers off. Geez, his feet ached after a twenty minute walk. In the distance, he heard the dreaded clock, and underneath that sound, something bubbled. The pot must be screaming, overflowing with boiling water.

 _Oh. So that's what he's doing._

His question was never verbally answered, but he didn't mind."Where did you guys go?" Rinto folded his arms and attempted to look casual, in charge. But in the end he was just being goofy.

"We went to the Gas Station, for popsicles." With his shoes finally off and dropped aside, Len sprang to his feet.

"With Kaito and Neru?"

"Mmm, Neru said it was too hot to stand outside all day."

"Were you on the bridge?" Rinto frowned. "You know it's dangerous to play around there. Think of the collision back in March, and then there was that incident of the homeless guy."

Len opened he eyes a bit wider, his eyebrows snapping up. "Seriously," he laughed, without cracking a smile.

But Rinto gave a serious nod, so confident, so sure he was in the right."Yeah, I figured you were aware. Don't go to places like that." _Don't go to places where the dead go._

 _This is like we're six years old again, and the house is dark, but the TV is bright and The Shining is playing, again, and I can feel his clammy palms over my eyes when the twins are crooning "Come and play with us…" and I can't watch, and I don't know if I want to watch, and I think those girls were dead in the hall and I think I'm scared but_ _ **I don't know.**_ His spirit stung.

Len spat them out, the words that felt inconsequential next to his frustration, "Learn to shut up."

"What?" Rinto stuck out his hand - which the younger brother slapped away, and the thick sound of rejection echoed in the house.

"It's different for them. I can't ask them to stop talking, because that's all they have left, but you," Len let his voice drop to the lowest pitch that it could go, "you should _stop talking about things you don't understand_."

Then Rinto clamped his mouth. The lively spark in his eye fell away. He reached up to tighten the bun on his head. Maybe he was bothered by the loose clump that fell against his nape.

Rin's head popped up from around the corner. "Your spaghetti's boiling over," She announced, waving a red pair of tongs for some emphasis. She squinted at both of them, grimacing at Len. Ultimately, she turned to Rinto and gestured for him to come.

Len turned back to the TV, where daytime provided just enough light to see a hazy copy of himself there. He hated the look of it.

They used to have a big fat Panasonic, where they watched tapes on late Saturday nights.

Rin would be curled up in Lily's lap, and the boys sat with them, and Dad sat on the sofa. When the film was funny, everyone would laugh. As nighttime grew darker, and the lull of sleep grew stronger, they would be sent off to bed. That was what it used to be, at any rate.

After some time, their mother and sister wouldn't be there. It would be Dad with a beer, glaring. It would be a room clotted with silence, which he relished more than the Saturday tradition.

But oh, well, whatever.


	5. Squeeze

_The girl lives._

 _Her bones have begun to weep, and her eyes crack._

 _She turns onto her back and wails, her dress glued to her skin._

 _Trees crouch over her. They wag their thin boughs._

 _Water is hard. Wind is hard. Blood is soft._

 _The world is growing dark._

* * *

Lily's room was special in two ways. One, it was the only room in the house with such intense colors - the paint was an oppressive Prussian blue.

Two, it was without noise. No hum of electricity or appliances, nothing like that. You couldn't hear a party's music from the cracks under the door. And inside, when you stood there, you wouldn't even hear your own breath. It was like a wisp swimming from your throat, into the beyond. No rhythm to detect.

If you had come the way Len had, you wouldn't hear Lily breathe, either. He stopped at the side of her bed, studying the hollows of her cheeks and eyes. Her collarbones were sharp, their angles hardened by the light of her table lamp.

He thought, _wow_ , and sat down, _wow, Mom, to him you were a collapsible person, you were folded for his convenience. Look at all your creases. I'm sorry, Mom. I wish we could think kindly of him._

He picked up the paperback on the floor - _The End of the Sky_ by Yohio Lloyd. Her hand-made bookmark was very close to the final page. He smiled and reached for the hair that lay over his mother's eyes.

 _I know you want something good, something without him._

She woke when he tucked the strands away from her face. "Hey, baby," she cooed, smiling back. She broke the silence so softly. It never stood a chance against her. "Was today fun?"

"I hung out with Kaito and Rin. You're almost finished with this, right?" He raised the book.

Mirth danced in her eyes. She shuffled, pushing the covers away from herself. "It's a lovely story, Len. You'll like it."

He leaned over and set the novel next to the lamp. "What is it about?"

"You need to read it." The bed stressed under her, but it was a very quiet sound. She looked like gold.

"I don't want to do it just because you're telling me to."

"But is that a reason _not_ to read it?" His tongue hid. He almost boiled with shame. He wouldn't protest to her that he wasn't a kid because, in any mother's eyes, their son was frozen in a child state.

She let him avoid answering. Lily was merciful all the way to the edges of infinity. "Rinto tried to make pasta," he informed her. He dared not say it was a success, but it was in a condition that they could attempt to eat for dinner.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have slept," she said as her rich and pure joy faded away. Her expression suited her fragile features now. Len wondered since when he could see so much of her skeleton. His organs squelched when he realised he hardly remembered her any other way.

He shook his head, finding her cool hand. She squeezed his fingers. "We can look after ourselves now," he insisted. Even though he knew she saw his baby-face and felt he was lying. He would assure her to the very end that she had not messed up.

"Did he make it well?"

"He made spaghetti," he said dismissively. He tugged, giving her the go-ahead to pull herself up.

"Oh, you used to love spaghetti. Do you remember how much you asked for it? You said, 'Mommy, I want the pasketti!' And you offered to pay me in Monopoly money," she giggled.

"I'm pretty sure that was Rin," he mumbled, somewhat abashed by the memory. He went and opened the door for her. The seal was now broken and stray noises gushed into the room. He made eye contact with the lady who sat in the corner, busy with her needlepoint. Her eyes were hollow, the color of ash, and she herself was shivering apparition. " _In this room I have rotted, and so will everyone after me,_ " she seethed. Len glared daggers at her.

Like everyone else, Lily didn't know when he was listening to a ghost. "No - it was you, because Rin used to wear the cutest little bow."

The lady faded away in less than a blink.

* * *

"Is it that bad?" Rinto whined, slapping both of his cheeks in dismay. He slumped over his seat, groaning softly.

Rin was still not finished with the parmesan. She continued to shower her plate until it looked like the aftermath of a blizzard. "I just like cheese." Still, the Cheshire-grin on her face made her appear as blue-eyed devil.

In spite of their better selves, Len and Lily snickered at the eldest boy's despair. In the end, he wasn't the most mature; just the eldest, by a mere hour. And Rin, who had succeeded him in a half hour, was the most cruel.

Len used to be the tiniest of all of them. And he was allergic to bottle formulas, which had been a bit hellish for a while. But you couldn't tell that he was the runt now. Not until they started speaking, at least.

He didn't hate the meal that was cooked. It was a stretch trying to make the sauce at home. The final result was surprisingly bitter and a little thin. He was still glad, though. A little warm inside.

And a little remorseful. He wondered if the words he had thrown could be taken back. He wondered about their weight, and how much venom they contained.

"There has to be an end," Lily chided, snatching the red tube from Rin's hand. A little spray of cheese flew over the corner of the table, but it was no issue. She set it down in the center, an equal distance from all of them.

"That's not true," Rin replied, huffing. "Think of _The Never Ending Story._ "

"Think of your favorite story, Rin. What would you do to someone who took away it's ending?" The experience that they heard in her voice was just a little mystifying, mostly terrifying.

Rin stood her ground, squaring her shoulders, raising her chin. "The ending isn't what makes it good."

"The ending makes it easier to carry in your heart." Lily closed her eyes and pressed her hands to her chest. "Every person is a intricate story, with comedy, romance, suspense, and an ending. If they didn't have any kind of finale, it would just keep going and going, all of the genres and subplots you could possibly think of. There would too much in a person, and they wouldn't fit in the heart of someone else. Do you get it? Love is difficult to stretch over a lifetime. You cannot do that for even longer."

"...I could love you for more than a lifetime, Mom." Rinto looked bitter as he smiled. But he still looked honest. He seemed to reach the woman's heart, making her lips curve into something bright.

"That's so sappy," Rin sniffed, twirling noodles around her fork.

"What do you have against that?" Len challenged her, his bravery loud and forceful. She examined his expression for what felt like years.

Someone cleared their throat, poking the stiff quietude.

"About Thursday," Lily interjected, "I saw on the news this morning that a storm is coming." She took a sip of water. The floral print on her cup didn't match that of the rest of her family's. Over the years they had succeeded in breaking much of her nicer glassware, but thankfully they were getting a little more careful these days

Len piped up in the hopes of embedding himself in the conversation. "Like a tornado?"

"Not really. But it might flood."

"I thought we were in a drought."

"I'm finished," Rin exclaimed, her chair scraping the floor. The pasta had been pushed around, but for red and beige mess indicated that she hadn't eaten much of anything. She moved away from them all briskly.

Rinto also heaved upwards, yelling after her back, "Are you kidding?! There's still so much left!"

"I'll have some more," Len volunteered, elevating his half-finished plate. He avoided his brother's scrutiny, turning his face the other way.

With a long, weary sigh, Rinto fall back into his seat. "No, it's fine. I know you hate it."

"Please," Len stressed. He fingered the wisps of hair that curled around his ponytail. His mother had adopted a cautious quiet, once again drinking from her cup. As she observed, the unpleasant atmosphere grew thicker. Her lack of interference was both a blessing and a curse. While he was grateful that he could voice his own discomfort for once, he was aggravated that his brother didn't want to discuss it.

There was another thought that he didn't want to even touch at that moment - the thought that Rin was angry with him as well. He knew it was deserved. Mistakes were so easy to make on his part. The little issues piled up at his feet, blocking his path. She was a resilient girl, and would cool off wordlessly in her room. He, however, would never lose the unease that he had gained. Knowing that his sins were not forgiven, but buried.

He should be able to apologize, at the least. That much was owed.


	6. Release

_She thought she would end when he appeared._

 _Who is he?_  
 _She sees him as gold in the moonlight, she feels him,_

 _he is so warm_

 _who is he?_

 _The girl sobs, his face is too far away. She would give the world up just to touch that warmth again._

 _his voice is velvet._

 _It is too cold._

* * *

Len stared at the ceiling, and stared, and never stop staring, even as patterns began to swirl out of the darkness and grip his vision with fanciful colors. He found that if he stared long enough, his eyes would forgo blinking. The dry pain never even occurred to him. He knew that he was being stupid. He was perfectly awake, and yet as foolish as if he were drunk with slumber. He held tight to his hope, the thought that he could possibly avoid sleeping for the rest of the night and not face the dead girl.

If he closed his eyes for even a second, he was assaulted by a fresh, strawberry scent, and the vibrant bursts of color he remembered from his dream. Her vivacity was stuck in his thoughts. What really rattled him was her _power_. They way she appeared to him only confirmed the heavy dread that he carried - she was attached to him, and for some reason, she wanted him to reciprocate.

He couldn't remember her from anywhere in his life. as he leafed through he memories he couldn't find so much as a trace of her. He considered that maybe he was the only person who had communicated with her as she was passing on, but then, there hadn't really been communication. Just connection. It was like being in the same chat room, and writing messages, but not being engaged in a conversation. It was like throwing things into space, and wishing to be seen.

A personal haunting was a bit rare. Most ghosts were tied to objects, and spaces. It was to draining to hold onto a living being (a stipulation that made her strength even more awful and amazing) so there had to be a really strong, intimate attachment. Why, why him?

 _Why did I sound so desperate in the dream?_

His face was seared pink. It was a little mortifying, even though he had no control of dreams.

Here was another difference between her and regular specters - the way she carried out her haunting. Len was not new to the prospect, and he had a past experience to compare to.

Once, when he was eleven, an old man had taken possession of his dreams.

* * *

 _It was a wooden bench, rough and strange under his tiny hands. He swung his feet and inspected the park around him, smelling the sweet summertime._ _The trees were cheerful and healthy._

 _It was very lonely, though. There was no one walking around. Not even an ant, which he made sure to check for. Wasn't that odd? The wind didn't exist. He looked up at the clouds and couldn't find a sun._

 _Then there was the sifting noise, and seeds were scattered across the ground in front of him._

 _He turned and saw the old man with his brown paper bag. The hat on his head was clean and snug against his short silver hair. His eyes were misty, unfocused. another handful of seeds crashed into the paved path._

 _"They are so beautiful," he crooned. His voice was even older than he was, a croak of defeat, a death rattle. he quivered as he spoke. "The way they sing, the way they soar. Don't you think?"  
_

 _And Len, being addressed by the adult, looked again at the empty park, then looked back to say, "Who do you mean?"_

 _The old man froze, a gaping statue. His arm was stuck in the air, little grains spilling from his square fingers. He gasped, and then he grinned, his eyes still hung in something far away that Len could not see._

 _He sighed, "Them."  
_

 _The area around them exploded with life, the cheer and murmur of passersby, the shrill giggles of running children. Couples held hands, mothers pushed strollers. Len was swept back by the sight, slack-jawed. So many faces, crystal clear, even down to the smallest freckle._

 _"They are so beautiful, and I never told them," the man chuckled, his wrinkles morphing as his cheeks broke into a smile. Heavy tears ran down his trembling face. They never stopped, only multiplied so that his chin dripped constantly._

 _It seemed that his eyes were actually moving now, tracking a woman who rubbed her swollen belly as she gripped a man's arm. Their wedding rings flickered with the light of a sun that still hadn't appeared anywhere._

 _"Should I tell them?" Len gripped the wooden slat beneath him. He thought that he would get a splinter, but the prospect didn't worry him._

 _"Annie, Annie...she loves to feed the birds. She comes every Tuesday to see..."_

* * *

Anne Biggs was a nice woman, when Len met her. That Tuesday afternoon had been as bright as he saw it. She cried a lot, clutching her bag of premium birdseed, but she had a remarkably strong smile. She told him thank you for speaking to my dad for me, I'm so happy, it must be nice in heaven, huh?

He said yes, and goodbye, and they waved at each other for a long time as he walked away with his mom.

Soon enough, the old man disappeared from his mind. The dream was sealed away carefully. Sometimes he was baffled by it. He had never seen normal people as particularly beautiful but, apparently, a dead man did.

But the world was more gross than that. The Bridge-Hobo saw that, and he opted out. There were unforgivable things like hatred, theft, rape, jealousy, prejudice, famine - you didn't have to be that bad to be screwed over, either. Lily trickled into the course of his thoughts...

No matter how good a story is, the joy it brings is temporary. Just the fact that death existed, and it stole a man from his daughter forever, did that not warrant vexation? _People die. People die every day. Every story has an end._

Len did not need age to be embittered.

* * *

 **Why do you act like this?**

She hummed. _Because I found you._

 **I don't understand,** he said, his arms tightening around her. Maybe he could squeeze the chill out of her, make her as summery as she made him.

 _Well, why do you do this?_ She asked, her fingers curling into his hair.

 **I'm trying to keep you safe.**

 _Lucky that I've got you...just what I need..._ She sighed against his cheek. Frosty, and sugary, that was her essence.

An ominous wind kissed them. The places that she stroked were dead and tired, but once she faded away, he was grave and hollow.

Without her it was pain.

 _I can't wait to survive._

* * *

The pillow was hot against the side of his face.

His vision was weak. It took some time before his dresser was no longer blurry. With a little help from the moonlight, he could make out the shapes of old Batman stickers on it's varnished surface. Dad had given him those. Even though he was more of a Spider-Man kind of kid, he remembered the care and effort he put into placing them.

Hot tears fell into his hairline.

It was weird. This cluttered feeling in his chest belonged to him, not anyone else, living or otherwise. It was so cruel.

The old man had shown him the world as he saw it, and asked him to pass along a message. He would be dazed during the day, and wistful, but that was the influence of someone else's spirit. Now, he was experiencing his _own reaction_ to the girl. This haunting was all wrong.

He squeezed his eyes shut, desperate for clarity in the fog. He would not sleep.


	7. Tug

_It is too cold._

 _Too lonely._

 _Waiting is a fool's game, so she has to stop now._

* * *

 _So I'll tell them about the haunting._

"Have you slept at all?" Aria cupped his cheek. Her comically thick eyebrows were pulled to the center of her forehead. She gnawed on her pale little lips.

"I can't," he answered sullenly, gazing at the row of candy bars in the aisle. Her thumbs traced the bags under his eyes.

"It was triggered on your birthday." Len winced, turning to Neru. She was the sharpest girl he'd ever known, even on a par with Rin. Her expressions were often dull, but the intelligence in them was startling.

Ia blinked a million times in one second. "Really?" She herself was as sharp as a marshmallow.

"You were so off at the party. Figured it was only a matter of time before you asked us to come out and talk about it." Neru stooped down, clutching her side-pony. She found a Baby Ruth bar that she liked the look of and plucked it from its carton.

"I just think I'm going crazy," he said in undertone. He gingerly removed Aria's fingers from his face. The girls were both shorter than him, although not by a great deal. In the fourth grade, Neru had been taller. It was only now that the truth was apparent - her growth had capped at five feet. She looked like a child. Desperate to break away from that image, her clothing and make up had grown very bold since last year. Her eyes and lips were always dark. Her hair was bleached. Her shorts were _short_.

She also jingled like loose change, her jewelry the same vivid yellow color of her hair. Len admired her. He didn't know anything about fashion or taste. It was just that she was completely unafraid of what she was, and became everything she wanted to be solely by wanting. Her drive was greater than even his desire to live.

Aria was just sweet and simple.

Thus, they were his favorite friends.

"How was your mom yesterday?" Aria coaxed. Neru also grabbed a Cookies n' Cream Hershey's bar. Len reached into his wallet and wiggled a bill from it until it was loose, then passed it to her as she went up to the cashier.

"She's still about the same," he said. His mind returned to the image of long, graceful locks which had been bound into a braid. The lamplight in his mother's room also sprang back to him, and he remembered how golden she was.

Neru tittered at them, her free hand falling on the prominent bone of her hip."You know, you probably are crazy. Calling two girls out at four in the morning."

"But you're the ones who decided to come," he quipped, "and I need to ask you something that I can't ask over the phone."

"Okay. Shoot." Neru received the change for the chocolate, which she pocketed, because he didn't mind. (The truth of the matter was that Len had bribed them for their company.) Ia stared at him without reserve, her eyes smooth and unstoppable. She clutched the hem of her fluffy pink jacket. Then, as Len's grave taciturnity stretched farther into the early morning, she began to hop for foot to foot in her white and pink platform boots.

"...somewhere else," he said, with a hush more powerful than an empty room. Elevator music drifted around them, filling the Gas Station with the mildest sounds.

"Then lets go. I'm not waiting all day for you to tell," Neru huffed. She marched through the glass door. The bell went off, and like a rabbit Aria bolted after her, crying, "my caaannndyyy!"

Of course the blond boy followed suit.

There was a sweet bubble of privacy that encased them as they began their walk. Len was tempted to use it, because while the things weighing down his mind were embarrassing, it was also an issue of him having absolutely no closure. He couldn't handle it on his own.

In the end, his choice didn't matter. he found himself suppressed by the sound of the bridge. Even this early in the day, countless people race across it, and they weren't any more obliged to hush in the dawn than they had been the previous afternoon. The bridge was only wide enough to fit two lanes of cars in it, but there might as well be five.

The homeless man was, as usual, perched on the rail. A gale that Len didn't feel ruffled the hobo's bloody beard.

"Come on," Ia wheedled, tugging his arm. Then he forced himself to look away and continued walking. That was the first time he realized just how floored he was. A dry gulp plugged his throat. How scary was it, to give everything up in a frenzy of frost and agony? How bad did the world have to be to counteract the natural trepidation of attempting suicide?

How driven to escape were those that succeeded?

The questions had been with him for three years now, already melted into his bones.

He didn't pay attention to the place that walking brought them too - it was just a dirty little fast food joint. They slinked in the way a feral cat does, and then they got comfortable in the darkest corner of the place. There were maybe two other people there, and no one seemed to care that they brought outside food.

Aria peeled the wrapper off of her Hershey's bar and broke off square, offering it to Len. When he excepted, she reached up and toussled his hair. No one could really mess it up because it was an inexplicable mess without any help - but the girls sure tried. Neru took a turn as she chewed her own Baby Ruth. She pulled a strand around her finger.

Len's only protest was a soft "ow" as they began snickering.

He leaned further onto the vinyl table, almost slumping. "Someone's bugging me. Or, I guess haunting me," he said, hiding his face in his arms. But the words were loud and clear. They didn't need his face to know his troubles. Ia whimpered and tried to gift him with words of comfort. She even tried to slip another chunk of chocolate between his arms, but they had been locked solid around his head.

Neru, in contrast, hid her own candy bar. "Who is it?"

"A girl I don't know. She's small, and her eyes are green, and her voice is soft...but she's older, so...I don't know when she died, I don't even know her name..." He regretted putting his head down. It was quickly getting stuffy. The tabletop was already moist.

If they for some reason recognized the girl, they weren't letting on. At least he could say in good faith that they were innocent, having nothing the do with his ghost girl's untimely demise.

"Well - then - why is she haunting you?" Aria already sounded on the verge of tears. He could always count on her sympathy, even though she would never know what it was like to see the dead and living in tandem.

"She told me I was 'just what she needed,'" he chuckled dryly. He closed his eyes. She was the brightest thing ever. Her image was scorched into his eyes.

"Yeesh," Neru hissed. She reached over and patted his shoulder. The sentiment was appreciated.

It was weird that Ia didn't, though. She was even more touchy-feely than Rinto was. Which was saying something. But she did give input. Her voice didn't take long to bumble around the restaurant as an echo: "Hmm? I thought they couldn't do that."

"They talk, Ia," Neru insisted.

"But don't they only say the last thing they thought?"

Len raised his head. He was slow in doing this, but his vision swayed like he was fifty storeys above ground. His heart thrummed. The still morning was suddenly off around him, like it had been washed and painted differently since he had last seen it a minute ago.

 _Aren't I stupid? I didn't even realize._

 _"Len?"_ He couldn't tell who said this because it seemed to echo and distort itself a million times over. His ears rang just a little, white noise filling him up.

"Len." Ia grabbed his hand. The silly, cutesy countenance she had been keeping was wept clean off. Now she was almost brooding, her space-blue eyes shooting straight through him.

"Okay, so. Definitely not the average ghost. What if she's something different? Like, you know, the whatchamacallit-" Neru's face scrunched as she shut her eyes tightly. Her manicured fingers pinched the slim bridge of her nose. Bless her for trying.

After a considerable pause, her amber eyes popped open. "-poltergeist."

Len flattened her suggestion in a second. "Those just throw stuff. They don't talk." He had known exactly two, and they were attached to houses.

"Shit. Okay, a banshee?"

He was about to dismiss that one, too. Surely she had just lifted the term from a video game. The fact that it came to her so quickly didn't help, either. She couldn't just say whatever she wanted. However, he didn't know anything about that creature, almost never heard of it.

Aria noted his silence. "I can look it up," she chirped. She turned to her phone in a split second.

"I'll look for other kinds," Neru volunteered. Their screens brightened their faces, and he thought they were angelic. He fiddled with the hair hanging against his neck, waiting for their results.


	8. Loose

_The girl lives._

 _Perhaps she will live forever._

 _No, the moon cries no._

 _The girl lives..._

 _right now, she breathes..._

* * *

His organs shuffled strangely, like they were stuffed with hot garbage. He really did think that was the case.

The sun had broken into the sky, painting it pink and orange, yellow and green, settling now on a lacklustre blue. His peripheral vision had started to darken on the walk home. It didn't help that he was teetering the whole way. If his foot landed wrong, he would most likely crumple to the floor. He felt like crap, simple as that.

He was empty of answers. The girls' search had continued well past six a.m., when they had no choice but to part ways. Before then, they had a compiled a fantastic list. Hungry Ghosts, _Yurei_ , White Ladies, _Sayona_ , even more that he couldn't remember or pronounce. None of those concepts helped him to understand his odd circumstances. A little disheartening, although the supernatural side was only one facet of the haunting. Aside from ghouls, they had googled for people that matched a description of the girl, which Len provided. A button nose, heart-shaped face, soft brows with gentle arches, etc., and the more he reported to Neru and Ia, the more he burned like fire, until he was devil-red from the neck up.

The takeaway was that it ended in nothing. Somehow, he had suspected the apocalypse would come before an explanation did. Oh well. Whatever. Not to say he was okay with his ignorance; it was just that all the confusion turned into an impressive numbing agent.

Len concluded that his ghost companion was not a major issue. In fact, he would be excited if a normal girl was as interested in him as she appeared to be. Really, his motivation for removing her was simple exasperation. Was he meant to deal with those mushy dreams until his last days? If so, how soon into that life sentence would Rinto find out?

 _He'll try to fix it like it's his own problem, while I sit around feeling like a useless kid again_ , he noted with an internal scream.

Birds were being rambunctious up in the oak trees. He shambled across the street, almost failing to avoid the oncoming Subaru (it honked at him passionately). He passed a gaudy black and yellow car. He hadn't the mind to question it, or recall what it meant. Now he was home. He jabbed his house key into the lock and pressed the door out of his way.

His stomach flopped when he saw the lights on. It hadn't been noticeable from the outside, given the thick curtains that hung over the window. The living room felt electric, the air being more awake than him. On the face of their small clock, he read that it was already seven-thirty-nine. This jarring state of affairs could have knocked him off of his feet if he had not grabbed the wall for support.

"Good morning," his mother rasped, depositing her coffee cup on the dark coffee table. From the looks of her, it was not so good at all. Her eyes seemed milky and dry.

"I'm sorry," Len stammered, punctuation by the ever-ticking clock. She shouldn't be up at all. She would have been resting, if it wasn't for one little nuisance.

Uncle Leon also put down his own cup and smiled ruefully at the boy. His hair was white-blond and thin, coming down to about chin-length. All of his features were pale and unremarkable, with the exception of his square jaw and heavy brown eyes. His resemblance to Dad was agonizing. As though to rub salt in that wound, he sat in Dad's sofa. His long torso had been bent at the middle as he leaned toward Lily.

Leon's scarf was checkered and ridiculous. He reeked of designer cologne. Soon the whole house would be stained with that odor, impossible to remove for weeks.

"Hey, champ," he began with glee.

Len ground his molars. The longer he did this, furling and unfurling his fist, the farther his uncle looked away. _Good_ , he thought, _get going._

Lily coughed. "Your uncle came all the way out here to see us," she said, her tone flat and warning. "Come and talk. He won't be able to do this again until Christmas."

"How was the trip?" Len crammed his keys back into the pocket of his shorts. He never ceased to be amazed. Even with the Kagamine name tainted and _tarnished_ , Leon always showed up in full plumage. On multiple damned occasions of the year, he forced Lily to accept awkward gifts and host him in her house. He was a forgettable guy, someone you didn't think of or care about unless he burrowed into your rotten life like a maggot.

"It was long, and uneventful. I'm more interested in how your days are," he drawled. He regarded the boy with curious dark eyes.

"I'm okay," Len shrugged, erupting on the inside.

The man cocked a brow at his nephew. "Really? Nothing cool happening? No cute girls you wanna mention?"

Tick Tock. Tick Tock.

His heart thumped. "No." Too quick to respond, he was automatically suspicious.

"You promise?" The playful lilt of that utterance sounded nothing short of malicious.

Tick Tock, Tick Tock.

"I-I'm just some kid; I don't have anything worth mentioning."

"Some Kid just wanders around in the wee hours of the morning, huh?"

Tick. Tock.

Let's be honest: the teen had just returned home, looking like he had been punched in the face by sleep deprivation. There was no way to deflect any accusations thrown his way. Hatred reared it's ugly head, urging Len to fight back. He dug his fingernails deep into his palms, marking crescent moons in the flesh.

"The kids held themselves a birthday party on Monday," Lily added, pushing her fingertips into her temples. She seemed to be tempted by the steam wafting from her hot drink, but nerves held her tight, tying her down. That pulled them away from discussing Len's nightly adventure.

"Another whole year...you guys have grown too fast. I wish you would forget all the time that's passed and be just like kids again," Leon opined, eyes downcast. He put his lips on the edge of his black cup, but didn't even attempt to swallow - his throat didn't bulge in any peristaltic way. Anyone could see that he had nothing more to say. He was the beginning of a joke, this dull man and his worthless companionship. Desperation, surely, had driven him to his brother's family for attention.

It made Len cackle. "Because that would make everything easier for you, wouldn't it?"

An incredible force latched onto his shoulder.

"Hey, _bro_ ," Rin's hot, angry breath hit his ear like an arrow. "Rinto already set your place for breakfast. Come and eat."

Was he spineless? Len was easy to startle, and almost yelped like an injured dog at the sound of his livid sister. His bones were still rattling with the terrible thrill of being caught after his escapade. This, however, was not a product of cowardice. He met his mother's eyes, and saw her shame for him in their depths. It pulverized the things he had planned to say next. No way he could stay in that room with nothing left to tell. He already hated Leon for that reason. Staying would make him a proper hypocrite. After one shallow inhale, he let himself be yanked out of the room.

The kitchen was very dark today, as if all the shadows in the house had collected there. The temperature had also dropped a little. Some form of relief existed in him; a significant amount of pressure fell away from him once he was there, in a different part of the house. It didn't change how he felt. He was sick, thinking about the way Lily looked at him.

These were thoughts that he didn't have for long. He bounced off the corner of the kitchen counter. His back stung from the blow. Soon, he found something to distract him from the smarting pain.

"We know what's going through your head right now." Rinto was scowling. The furrowed brow and down-turned mouth were foreign on him. Seeing him this way, out of his element with anger, made Len's guilt and resentment grow at once.

Rin looked no better, her teeth bared like the predator she was. Her finger stabbed the center of his chest. "This isn't a chance to go pushing your problems onto Uncle Leo again," she growled.

"My _problems_?" Len sneered. Perhaps he hadn't heard her correctly. Blood was roaring in his ears as it rushed across his brain. He locked his fist around her wrist - an action executed fairly, not with the use of any brute force, not with any leniency. Baffled by their insinuations, he collected the little integrity left in his withered consciousness and masked it with anger. Exhaustion had turned their faces blurry in his mind.

 _Do they have fun pretending to know everything that I can possibly imagine?_ They at least desired to control him. In and of itself, that desire was an offence to him. Rin wrangled her arm away from his hand, with a hoarse cry,"You know what I said. _God!_ Even now we aren't good enough for you, all you can think about is-"

"-it's _enough_ , Rin," Rinto said coldly. He tapped her shoulder, his fingers just landing on her, and her entire body jumped to be apart from his touch.

"What is it that I think about, Rin? Tell me what I don't seem to know about myself," he snapped. While he spoke he could hear himself singe and crackle like a growing flame. The sound of campfires and hearths in the home is also the infamous voice of destruction.

"All you can think about is _Dad_. The only thing in your head right now is how much you hate him. But you can't show him that, can you? You need a freaking surrogate for your hatred, so you picked Dad's brother," Rin said finally. Had she sworn and cursed a thousand times, Len's reaction would have been the same immovable silence. He was caked in quiet, his eyes even quivering with bewilderment. Rinto cringed as though looking at a corpse.

The idea hadn't even bobbed around in the seas of his thought. See, Len was not an unreasonable person. He saw the futility of hating someone that had died. If he ever became a ghost, Dad would be too caught up in himself to acknowledge the feelings of others. Knowing that, _he_ had buried his grief alongside his father.

Today, he was accused of being unable to control his feelings. Three years had gone by since Dad overdosed. After all this time, they saw fit to tell him that he had the emotional intelligence of a child. Insults from his family could hardly be greater, even if they had gone into town and proclaimed him a bed-wetter.

He didn't know where to go. So he just went up the stairs. Rinto only watched him do this, never intervening.


	9. Seize

_Nothing at all._

 _That is what she has become, with her empty throat and empty eyes._

 _Her cheeks have dried now. Nothing is left for her, not even the biting cold that overcame her. One last wish crosses her mind when the world becomes black._

 _Can I go where he goes?_

 _She wants to keep him. His warmth is made of agitation, not happiness or kindness. She knows that. Still, she cannot forget the sensation._

 _The girl lives, for one last second._

* * *

Stair-Bro mumbled about the stairs, about what one little tumble did to him, but his shadowy body was disregarded. Len barreled past him, half thinking he would be pushed back down to the first floor.

He didn't look into the mirror or so much as glance in the direction of the Game Room. This time he was going straight into his private chamber, and locking the door until Leon's car peeled off the street.

The door was already ajar. He was careful not to slam it on the way in, though he wished to do so. He refused to believe that he couldn't control himself.

Nearly tearing his hair out, he spun around and knocked his forehead against the wall. It was cool there, creating a soothing affect.

 _Do I hate him?_ He found himself asking. He didn't _like_ his father, and that was easy enough for many guys to admit. The man had been surly and jaded for the latter half of Len's life. _But, do I hate him?_ Dad was not good the way most people could be. The abuse that he directed at Lily still had an impact on her, even in the present. Never had he struck her, certainly never the children. It was all in words that he desecrated his family's trust.

He had to hesitate. Hate was strong. Even hating Leon was a serious affair. Counsel would be helpful at the moment, no matter who it came from.

Gliding over his phone, Len's fingers found the call button. The smart phone hummed as it attempted to establish a connection. The dial tone never tired, bleeding from one second to fifteen, to thirty, up to a minute of flat, uniform ringing.

Finally, a distorted voice picked up. " _If you're trying to reach Aria Planetes, good job! You did it~! Unfortunately you're gonna hafta leave a message, because, ummm, I'm not here! Heehee._ " An abrupt beep trailed after the recording.

His phone, which was very sleek, dripped from his grasp as quick as water. He elected not to pick it back up. Ia was busy, meaning that Neru could be, too. He was not the center of anyone's world, and he knew that.

 _Do I hate him?_ He shivered when he respired. Goosebumps covered him. It was nippy, up on the second floor. He noticed that now.

The presence in his room was not demanding, or aggressive. It just managed to fill the space with it's impressive aura. He was indifferent to it at the moment, the way many people would be. Dismal memories had him preoccupied. Surely his other problems could wait for the time being.

"Hello," her voice chimed, as sweet and silvery as a bell. Instead of a dramatic, slow reveal, he whipped around at once. No point in theatrics at this time.

There, sitting on the bed, was his ghost girl. The green eyes he had expected were pointed at the ground. Her bright, satiny tresses pooled around her like a fountain pond. His own gaze wandered over the lace hem of her skirt. Her slender legs crossed at the ankles. She wore white flats, which was strange, because most ghosts were an unlit muddle from the knee down. Once again, she proved to be an exception to the rules that previous phantoms had established.

While she was very affectionate in the dreams, in the waking world she assumed a wildly different manner of speech and action. To him, it appeared as if she was split into two separate people. In just a moment, she was going to verbalize the last of her ponderings, and then vanish as a vapor in the air. Maybe her thoughts would have no significance for him. Maybe she was talking to herself alone. Considering that she was haunting him, however, they were important enough that she would continue talking, even with no corporeal mouth to speak with. He would have to listen to her, no matter what she said.

Armed with caution, Len awaited her next "hello." The word didn't reach his ears for a long time. Eventually, he gave up his patience. He clenched his jaw, his eyes scathing with the need to leak. She was trying to take root in the most private parts of his mind, but she wouldn't converse with him. The fact that she seemed so impartial to his sorrow...it just hurt.

"Why don't you say something?" He berated her, "If you don't answer, I'll make you sorry. Do you understand? You're driving me _mad!_ " He swept his hand up his face, pushing back the unkempt locks on his brow.

Everything remained the exact same. Not surprising. The threat was empty, flavorless. And she couldn't understand that he was placing blame on her. He backpedalled, flattening against the door.

"You're dead. You can't worry about me." He said this about her, but it was mostly a reminder for himself. Sanity was easy to lose. For him, who saw death perpetually replay itself, it couldn't be easier. He had to be calm just to keep living. Every time before now, he had been.

 _So get a grip on yourself, Kagamine._

The boy sniffed hard, his belly shaking. The chaos in him paused the way people pray earthquakes would. Tranquility dispelled the glacial feeling in his skin.

"...Hello," she pronounced. His skeleton almost jumped out of his flesh in alarm. She had spooked him, by picking up on her speech out of nowhere. There wasn't an inkling of passion in her voice - a second-grader could read aloud in class with more more zeal than she had.

"Hello," he answered, albeit at a reserved volume.

"Hello. Help. Is anyone there?"

"Yes, I am," he assured her.

"It hurts," she continued, causing him to narrow his eyes. He paced toward her. She appeared as aloof as before, even though she looked directly at him.

"Hello?" He tested, stopping a foot in front of her. Her eyes tracked his gradual movement. She might not be inconscient, he thought, it could be that she just looked distracted. Ghosts weren't your average everyday person, after all.

"It's cold," she informed him.

He chuckled dryly, "Is it? I'm sorry."

"It hurts." The way her words were scrambled made him think someone was switching them around on purpose.

"I know that. It hurts for most people. How did it happen to you?" The question was half-hearted, because he didn't want or expect an answer. He bowed a little so that his eyes would be more level with hers. It was the way teachers would lean or crouch down to converse with him. (Most people experienced this in elementary school, but this was still the position his English teacher took when addressing him.)

She pleaded, "Can I go... _where you go?_ " Wisps of desperation were tangled in her tone.

His chest pounded fervently.

"Yes." Len was so quick to affirm, he worried he could sound like a liar. His dry tongue flicked over his arid lips.

Her heavy lashes fell over her hazy eyes, beating like the wings of a raven. "You'll come get me, won't you?" For the first time, she displayed distress in her face. He struggled to take it in. She was five inches in front of him, yet he couldn't pinpoint what told him she was upset.

"Aren't you with me?" He intimated. The smooth lime color of her eyes was full of silver-blue flecks. A hand floated towards her. It was strange, watching his own fingers outstretched. _Hilarious. I'm actually trying to do this right now_ , he thought, restraining his laughter.

The girl heaved a very tired sigh. Still, she did not breathe, nor did her chest swell with air. _That was done purely for expression,_ he figured. Like a smile, or a shrug. In the effort for communication, she seemed to be doing just fine.

His hand landed on a lump of ice. A single touch made the rest of his body feel worse than it had been the whole morning. Glancing down, he only saw his hand on top of her hand.

Whether he should feel horrified or fascinated, he couldn't discern. He couldn't even be sure if he had hit something solid, or something fabricated by his brain. There was only the shrill sensation of winter.

The room was not cold anymore, not anywhere, with the exception of his extremities.

An unfitting smile filled his lips. If he emptied his mind, he could pretend that there was nothing segregating their two planes of existence. While the dead walked among the living, they could be felt and heard and seen. And everyone would care for them, realizing that they were people as well. _No one would forget their suffering._ Families would remain unbroken, classical authors and composers would still be fashioning masterpieces.

His fantasy was therapeutic. Indeed, it was ridiculous, but here he was. Here, digits hovering over the skin of a ghost. Here, wishing that he could seize the girl in front of him. If he tried hard enough, he was sure he could do it. There were stranger things to be optimistic about, weren't there?

With his efforts, she might be able to feel something other than pain, too.

"Tell me where I can find you."


	10. Drop

_Lily's name was the most fitting that had ever been given._

 _Like the flower, she was tall, slender, and bright. Purity wafted from her like the smoke of a fire._

 _It was not purity in the sense of innocence. Adults lose that long before they're fully grown. But it was a strong and precious essence that she had, which no one else seemed to have._

Grace _, Len decided. Everyone had stumbled when Dad was declared dead. Lily did, too; she had married the man because she loved him. Nonetheless, her reaction was slightly different. While everyone else was in a stunned silence, sitting around in sober black clothes, she wasn't inanimate. She, the widow with three kids, could still function. She threw herself into her life and her job - she had hummed, and laughed at jokes, and got out of bed every single morning._

 _It had to be her grace. Everyone had stumbled. She alone did not fall._

 _But, while it will always be a beloved lily, you can see when the flower is becoming shriveled and browned..._

 _Len couldn't shake the sinister feeling that she was losing herself. If he really wanted to, he could mention his father and shatter her concentration for minutes at a time._

 _The horrible thing was, he wanted to do that. H_ _e needed to know the last time he had spoken his father's name. He couldn't remember what it felt like to fold his tongue around the syllables._

When did we first forbid his name? Is remembrance the new sacrilege?

 _Well, the dead want to be remembered. He would just have to become a blaspheme._

* * *

"Tell me where I can find you," he instructed.

"It's cold," she told him, reaching up to graze his chest. Her low temperature managed to sink through his t-shirt. He closed his eyes, and avoided musing about her _real, physical_ touch. He couldn't have just imagined it, especially if he felt two times in a row. The sheer madness of the situation threatened to swamp him. However, he didn't have the time or energy to divert his attention to her corporeality. He figured if he could get through everything without dying, that was good enough. It was bat-shit insane, not life-threatening.

He couldn't peek. Once the numbness set in, burrowing in his ribcage, he had no method of discerning if her snow-like hand had flown from him. The prospect that she would be gone when he checked for her was nauseating. Her taciturnity didn't help, either.

He prodded her again, with a different but equally urgent question. " _Who_ are you?" Imagination is vast, but his theories were limited by the mystery of her luminous countenance. He hadn't seen the girl once before. She didn't show up in any of his memories.

"Please help." Blood flushed back into the space she had frozen. She had ceased tracing her fingers along his sternum.

Len ensnared his lip between his teeth. He was afflicted, both with dismay and the irrefutable need to grab for her. So he teetered between the desires.

He saw, mentally, a bleak expanse of water. It folded into itself, chopped up waves of rolling silver. He knew what it looked like, as well as what it must feel like...sharp like a serrated blade. But could he ever possibly hold it?

He never mustered to courage to try, fearing that she was mist after all - in which case, he should have a long talk with a psychiatrist.

 _I know you're here_ , he thought. His vision snapped from black nothingness to the empty bed. He gave a jittery groan.

"But I'm losing you," he said, to the girl who was not there.

* * *

Lunch became a special affair when guests arrived. A hot meal was prepared, and later served to every person in the house.

"Isn't this good?" Leon chewed with the zeal of a famished dog, hardly keeping his mouth closed. "I swear to you, no one in the world makes a chicken pot pie like your mom."

"I helped make it," Rin boasted, her mouth a crescent of self-satisfaction. To be precise, she had washed and cut the carrots. Aside from that, she knew the sensitive balance of ingredients better than anyone besides Lily. Being able to cook was an esteemed skill in the Kagamine clan.

Uncle Leon was, as a Kagamine, aware of that. He smeared faux amazement over his face. "Incredible. _Incredible_. You'll really be a chef at this rate, Rinny."

Len used his fork to scrape the peas out of his steaming slice of pastry. He was tempted to stuff them into a napkin so that he could discard them all. Green vegetables had never appealed to him. Nonetheless, he chose to save them for last as opposed to being a wasteful brat.

"She baked her own birthday cake," Lily stated as she glimmered with pride.

"Oh, what I would give to try a slice," he remarked wistfully. Most of the pie had vanished from his plate.

Rinto took those words at face value, venturing to tell, "There's still plenty left." Len thought that his brother was wincing. He looked to be in substantial pain. The case was, however, that he bared his teeth with the intention of seeming gleeful.

 _How the hell does someone think they can lie right in front of their family?_

"Are you not hungry, dear?" Len jerked, now more tuned in to the conversation. Lily had whispered right next to his ear, tendrils of her voice looping around his thoughts.

He didn't start responding right away. If there was anything he hated, it was catching his own hypocrisy. He hadn't been hungry in days - although, certainly, the call of sleep was compelling him to curl up on the table and black out.

"I'm just going slow," he promised her, shooting his gaze far away from hers. So it was going to be true. He'd have the finish the entire thing, peas and all, before he left the table.

"You've always had a delicate appetite, Len," Leon grinned, dropping his silverware.

Len sported the most sarcastic smile he ever had in his life. "Really? Do tell." He had been braced for a kick under the table, but no one tried anything.

Nostalgia brought a glossy sheen to Lily's eyes. "When you were switched from breastfeeding to solid foods, you rejected everything," she divulged.

"Nothing worked," Rin interjected, "not the airplane, or the choo-choo, or even 'see mommy eat it too!'"

Rinto chortled behind his hand. "You were the only fussy eater,ya know? So lame!" Now he was enjoying himself. At Len's expense, but still. A pleasant mood began to permeate the tension.

"Would I drink formula or something?" Every head shook. Amazed, he let his brow lift.

"Then how did I survive?"

"... _Tonio_ was too stubborn to let you starve," Leon elucidated.

Little more than the sound of breath could be heard. Lily seemed to shrink, curling inwards like the petals of a dry plant.

Len was astonished at how quickly his anger rushed through him. The afternoon had been sabotaged with one little word. It had been thrown in so carelessly, too, as if the uncle had no idea of his sister-in-law's trigger. The first time he heard it in perhaps months, or a year, and that word just had to be spoken by someone he couldn't stand.

 _When did we first forbid his name?_

"...Uncle Leo, are you in town for long?" Rinto asked with a polite cough.

Leon nodded, folding his hands. "As a matter of fact, I'm spending a couple of days with you guys."

Len almost choked on a lump of chicken.

"Oh, are you taking someone's room?" Waiting for an answer, Rin's jaw fell slack. Almost everyone slumped, placated by the non-offensive subject. Not Len, though. He didn't like the plan they had laid out.

The older man described, without a care, what he had in mind for his stay: "Just that playroom up on the second floor. Rinto's _old_ room." He probably imagined it, but Len heard the ominous creak of a noose. Closet-Guy was the reason they converted that room in the first place.

The table rattled on its legs. Metal screamed as a fork bounced along the floor."No!"

Rin's squinted eyes snapped to Len's, flaring with murder. He expected everyone to do the same, and he anticipated the burn of four glares to arrive in three more seconds. Ten seconds of no activity or sound passed by. His stomach lurched, trying to reject every pea he had managed to swallow thus far.

It seemed that Rinto had lowered his head, nose nearly squashed into the table. It was terrifying that someone so talkative had to the side of the scene. He looked so little. Lily dragged a weary smile across her face, saying, "i also think no. It would be better if you slept on a real mattress instead."

Leon laughed with as much joy as Santa Claus. "Well, I don't want to deprive you guys of your own beds..."

They took that idea and ran away with it. Now trivialized, Len's declaration could be forgiven. Not so much as a word asked of him. No one wondered why, or how, they could get him to agree with the plan. They knew he would be too pig-headed about it, so they just didn't bother acknowledging him.

The powerlessness weighed him back down into his chair.

He took up his utensil again and continued to pop food into his mouth without tasting.


	11. Clutch

_The sun is coming up, all white and small._

 _Steam rises from the ground - from every blade of grass, every little rock._

 _The river is swollen and metallic._

 _The girl has evaporated._

 _The clouds are sweet and tender around her. They are not warm._

* * *

"You're not good at this," Rin tsked, knocking the green pin aside. Her piece was now seven places away from "Home" on the game board. She had picked the blood-red pins - of course she had to - and she was currently winning her third round of Sorry.

Len was in last place for the fourth time in a row.

"Give him some credit! Most of the game's up to chance," their uncle chastised. He had one blue pin at "Home" and the other three had never left "Start." His temples glistened with a generous supply of sweat. That was how you could tell he was starting to take the game too seriously.

They said some other things - marvellous, happy things. The teen boy wasn't actively listening to them. He tugged on his ponytail for the umpteenth time. There was a familiar piercing groan behind his back, where the closet door stood half open.

Was he scared? Never. Closet Guy was not a scary thing. He was just a guy.

So why were Len's nerves screaming?

 _I wish I_ could _ignore him. I wish I was more normal._

If that was the case, he wouldn't think twice about anyone. He would be so wrapped up in himself, busy breathing and maintaining his heartbeat. He wished he was normal and would think less about others...that would make him forget everyone who ever passed away, wouldn't it? Then, not a single person would remember. That kind of cruelty He might just be miserable for the rest of his life. It was going to be a hysterical tragedy, with him pitying the dead and the living and himself in the exact same way.

Rin nudged the Rinto, who regained his senses after an hour of stone-like behavior. "Draw a card already."

"Whose turn is it?" He slurred.

She rolled her eyes. "Quiet and Spacey? I'd expect that from Len, but not you."

"Ey - lay off him. Just play as well as you can," Leon warned again.

She paused as if to consider what he said, and then blew an abrupt raspberry. "This is getting boring," the girl groused, falling onto her back on the floor.

"...maybe you should call Kaito," Rinto recommended.

Leon's cards plopped in his lap. "Is Kaito your special friend?"

His niece bolted back into a sitting position, her hair snapping upwards with the force up her upheaval. "He's not cool enough," she spat.

Len unfurled his crossed legs. They commenced prickling back to life. Closet Guy was being too Vocal, so he turned around and gave the hanging shadow a brief once-over.

It was the same shape, the same size. No distinctive features because, obviously, he was an apparition. But he was oozing anguish, which suffused the entire room. It sucked the wholesome color right out of the walls. Even the light filtered the window was less merry.

No one else seemed to care. Like Len had assumed, the effects were the worst on him. His throat throbbed as acid tickled his uvula. Every second added weight to his head. It could've been ten pounds, or ten thousand. He battled to remind himself that it was not a personal threat from Closet Guy.

 _I want to care about your problem, Guy, but I'm struggling to live right now._

Wasn't that probably what ran through Lily's mind? On top of that, it couldn't just be him and her. Everyone in the world told themselves some variation of the excuse. Len was supposed to be different with his Sight, show more patience and responsibility.

"Nothing's different in here. We're just playing games," he said, in hopes of appealing to the ghost.

"What's that?" Leon inquired, only to go unheard and unanswered.

The sick energy only grew more potent. "Please calm down, it's _okay_ right now - nothing's changed!" It wouldn't be so bad if he had rested in the night.

"Hey," said Rinto, "you aren't okay." His fingers flicked ardently, but he decided against grabbing his brother. The possibility of a rebuff seemed enough to thwart him.

The only thing that passed through Len's ears was a scratchy moan.

"You know it's the same. There's no reason to be this upset."

"Len-"

"Naturally you're unhappy this way, but you can't change a thing. Right now, you're just preserving it- "

"LEN."

At the sound of his name, he whipped around and snarled. " _I'm not talking to you_."

Rinto's eyes were huge as he scooted backwards.

Rin had absorbed every moment and was quickly steamed by her hot temper. She went headlong at him, her typical doughty response. And then she snatched Len by the scruff of his collar and yanked him straight off of his ass. Almost no effort was necessary. "Get out of here," she roared.

"This is so typical of you," he shot back, his fists clenched as hard as they could go. Still woozy, he wobbled, but he obstinately stood on his own.

With a voice like a steel rod she sneered, "I get that you can't tell, but you need professional help."

He didn't know if he should be grateful that no one intervened. It was awkward, just being stared at, but at the same time it was easier to pretend they weren't around. It was him and Rin, grinding teeth, spitting acid.

"But you're so _perfect_. You're stronger and smarter and more charismatic, and you still can't deign to leave me alone!" he sniggered.

 _Don't say it._

"Do you hear yourself right now? I'm literally going out of my way to help you!" The tempo of her voice matched that of his hammering heart. He was trying to see her face, her crystal eyes and serious brows that were supposedly just like his own - but he couldn't find her. His vision was dyed vermilion.

 _Don't say it._

"You'd be a great help if you shut the hell up for once!" His exclamation rose above every other noise, cutting everyone off effectively. When there was nothing but the static that charged the air, he heard himself panting.

 _Don't say it._

Her eyes were pinned to him. Was what he said really so grave? He had almost never said anything disrespectful to her. She was used to being the revered, slightly-elder-sister, and he was about to throw the value of her position back at her face.

 _Ah, then in that case, say everything._

He smiled at the pressure that bloomed in the center of his skull. "I'd prefer the guidance of a _rotten corpse_ over you, Rin."

...She didn't punch him. That was strange.

She didn't slam her closed fist in the middle of his face. He was waiting for broken teeth and a splintered nose bridge, but that wasn't what he got.

It was just a clout to his cheek that made his head shake a little. It didn't even feel like anything, really. There was supposed to be remorse simmering in him. Pain was supposed to be distasteful, and now it wasn't. He was too tired to hurt over something as silly as a slap. The smile stayed on him.

"Is it all out of your system now?" He said mockingly. He knew exactly what she was mute for: not her own choice, it was just shock tightening her lips. The same thing was happening to Rinto and Leon, who had been suspended in time with concern coating them.

 _For once, it's happening to someone else._

"...Could you," Leon moved awkwardly, dragging himself up to stand, "come with me downstairs?"

* * *

Where was all that boldness that they used to have?

It had been okay for some brief moment, but suddenly, they were as docile and quiet as lambs. Rinto didn't speak,Rin let her pride fall into the pit of her stomach and dissolve away.

That didn't happen when Uncle Leon wasn't there.

* * *

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

If Leon prayed hard enough, he figured everything might be okay.

Pray to whom? He didn't think it mattered. In the typical adult fashion, he was too busy and worried to ask what higher power was in charge of the world.

Tick. Tock.

The more relevant question was, "how long must I beg before they fix us?"

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

He glanced at his nephew, who glared at him in return. Len was the kind of person that stared at things, long and hard. Although it wasn't always apparent what had his attention, his feelings were plain to see, as clear as the text in a dictionary.

He had at least _some_ foresight, but Leon wouldn't know because of how brash and irrate Len became when they were in the same room.

Keeping that in mind, he straightened his shoulders and braced himself for some yelling. "Y'know, kiddo, you don't have to feel angry if Rin tries to help you." Even before he said anything, he knew it sounded lame, but the longer his idea floated in the open air, the more it sounded like he wasn't trying.

He continued to stare maliciously, but Len didn't lash out as was expected. With that sliver of hope to hold, Leon drooped in his seat so that his spine could rest.

"I know she can be...bull-headed, and kind of mean, right? But that's how she helps herself, and she thinks that's how she should work with you," he said at last, with very lazy hand gestures to express his thoughts further.

His efforts didn't seem to pull through, however. There was no indication of understanding from the boy.

"Lets try a two-way conversation. How do you feel right now? You can tell me anything, bud. If it's bad, I can help. We're family," he swore.

Len supplied a riposte. "Naturally, you're unhappy this way, but you can't change a thing."

Leon almost shat a brick. "T-try me," he stuttered. Why on earth was this kid so creepy? He used to be a perfect angel.

"You want to stay. I want you to leave. You can't fix anything without ignoring what someone wants."

Leon thought about Lily's sun-like smile, and Rin's enthusiasm for boardgames in an age where cellphones were easily more entertaining. He remembered every meal, and most details of the house, where bits of his brother's history could be found.

You could almost spot Tonio's likeness in his children's faces, or in their actions. It wasn't enough to cure the grief. Just enough to make a desperate relative come back every four months.

Leon told nothing but the truth, "That's right; those are the things we want."


	12. Bail

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Lily frowned to punctuate her plea.

With disappointment etched into her face, she became as weathered as a wooden post on a boardwalk. He made a grand point of focusing on her eyes, to avoid thinking about her condition.

"I'll watch the house, then...I'm not feeling so good."

Lily's fingers felt as if they had rested in the fridge for an hour. Still, Len didn't jerk away from them as they held his chin; he valued her motherly gestures.

"Is it too much to ask?" She cried. "Be nicer to Uncle Leon. He's family. You're precious to him, Len."

"It's not about him! It's about someone else, okay?" he replied, folding his arms.

"If its so bad, why can we not help you?" she murmured.

Rin slapped her hand along the wall, gaining speed until she jumped out from the hallway. She wore light capris and a faded blue top. Upon seeing him, she didn't so much as incline her head toward her brother. "You don't need a jacket, Mom," she said.

"I wouldn't be so sure. The storm starts moving in at seven," Rinto chided, turning the corner to appear in front of everyone. He carried two non-descript jackets, the kind that everyone has in the back of their closet, and a grey hoodie, one which Len distinctly remembered leaving behind his locked bedroom door.

Rin's nose wrinkled. "Thursday's gonna be gross and humid."

Rinto slipped on a smooth and even smile, something he'd had trouble with most of the day. "Yeah, since it'll flood to biblical proportions." He readily extended his arm, holding the hoodie out towards his brother. His smile faded when Len didn't immediately reach for it.

A pest of guilt gnawed at Len's conscience. He pulled his ponytail until it hurt, turning to watch the clock-hands switch to three-sixteen. "I guess I'll see you guys on the ark, then," he deadpanned.

"Take your jacket. We'll be late for the movie," Rinto laughed, his voice bone-dry.

"Better hurry and go."

"Please, Len," his mother implored once more.

"Dude, come on!"

Leon entered the room on light, hesitant feet. He was demure, like a frightened pet. "If he's not up to it, there's no reason to drag him along."

With that, there was no space left for further arguments. Len received all of the stinging side-glances that a traitor would expect. He severely embarrassed his mother, and of course appalled his sister. His brother looked like he would have said more if he had not been squeezed out of the door.

Then he was alone with his hoodie, now tossed on the coffee table, and the rhythm of time.

He opened his mouth. Except there was no one to hear him, which he barely remembered, so he promptly snapped his lips back together.

Tick. Tock.

What a maddening idea Time is. Something that exists outside of your head, even though it only makes sense in a human mind. If cannot be controlled or compelled. That had to be more terrifying than it sounded. Seeing as a mere clock could put the boy on edge, Len decided it would be best to hide in the kitchen.

He looked at Dad's seat for a moment.

 _Could he be...? No, that's stupid. I would see him if he could be here._

The little faith that Len had in himself swelled with new confidence. He was sure that he knew more about the dead than anyone, however useless that knowledge might be.

* * *

"-Hey," he sighed, pressing the phone harder to his ear. Suddenly, a pressure around his heart gave way. It felt good to breathe again.

" _Hey, Len. You sound angry._ " Typical Aria, with her softness and her sensitivity, detecting any unspoken malice. He didn't like when he was found out, especially not by such an airhead. At least, this time, he couldn't help forgiving her. He was being a bit dramatic.

"Yeah," he answered as he relaxed into the chair. There was only him and the squeak of wood. The light from the western window slept on his his back, although it was nowhere near as warm as the afternoon had been.

" _I bet you wanna talk about Rinto,"_ she guessed, " _he's probably caught on that you snuck out_."

"My uncle is in town," he corrected her as he shook his head.

" _Oh!_ " Her reaction reminded him of a popped bubble, it's bouncy rainbow surface snapping into a cheery little noise. " _You're mad at him, right? What for?_ "

Len took too little time in thinking of "what for." There was certainly evidence in his favor, but it was long-winded and complicated and he opened his mouth to snap, "he's an asshole." That was his case.

" _...sure_ ," she murmured.

"He's a jerk," the boy insisted, his brow crunching into a frown.

The girl hummed, " _I know, you're telling me exactly what_ you _know_."

"You make it sound like I don't know the right thing."

" _Just because,_ " she giggled, and he pictured her lying in her bed, snuggling a giant stuffed bear. " _Just because I think I know a different thing. Rin and Rinto loooooove Leon._ " She had heard about this case before, from all three of the triplets, back in the sixth grade. He worried that she might not take him seriously for this reason.

It was in his best interest to shut up, and he knew it; he thought he was a moron as he continued to elaborate: "That's because they're desperate for someone like Dad and they'll make do with whatever they've got. _I'm_ not."

" _You're as desperate as everyone else in the world. Moreover, you're very stubborn_ ," she said.

He was a little angry at her now. Even though he could never consider himself a regular person, by no fault of his own, she would still lump him in with everyone else. He couldn't be normal, and he couldn't be special, but by God, he would receive the disadvantages of both groups. How on earth was that fair?

Suddenly her tone fell flat, being as serious as a gravestone. " _Do you not feel like you need your Dad anymore?_ " An undercurrent of static lifted her voice into a new, alien pitch.

"What?"

" _You don't like your Uncle Leon 'cuz your siblings act like he's a substitute daddy_."

He raised his eyes in the direction of the window, seeing a truth so bright it could have blinded him. "Yes," he breathed. _Ia, you dopey marshmallow genius!_

" _But you were perfectly happy with just the four of you in than house. So you really want to forget your Dad_ ," she suggested.

"No I don't!" he replied, aghast. He clenched his fist. His joints were all dry and rolled coarsely in their sockets, aching in every part of his limbs. _Why the heck would she think that?_

" _Okay, then, you don't. You hate your uncle because...you hate him. Not because you are a person who reasons and investigates, or because you have some issues that you haven't worked out. Just because that's how it is and I'd be dumb to say some other thingy. Have I got it right, Lenny?_ " She trilled. Her message never eclipsed her geniality.

Len blinked. He didn't think she could be so scathing, but in her words he sounded like a troglodyte. Regardless, he could face up to her much easier than anyone else. "I get it, I don't have _good_ sense of what my reasons are. But I have them, don't I?"

Rin thought he wasn't self-aware, as if he had never tried to keep his thoughts private. But she didn't know about these talks. Her idea came from some other instances of over-sharing. She believed, for multiple reasons, that he was weak and annoying. For that, he couldn't blame her, but her criticisms were becoming annoying and unproductive. Aria wasn't that way.

Ia then spoke through a full mouth, probably more candy. Perhaps gummy bears, Swedish Fish, or Dots. " _I've already said the stuff I meant to say, so you do whatever you want with it now. Mmmm. It'll be okay. You're a good boy. You're gonna grow up and be a good, bigger boy._ " She swallowed.

"Oh. Thanks." He cracked a smile. Neru might not be busy later on in the day, if he was lucky enough to catch her.

" _I forgot_ ," his friend added.

"Hmm?"

" _What color is her hair? Ghost Girl, I mean_."

Len began to speak, "It's," but dropped off after the first noise. His face turned absolutely blank save for a heavy red tint.

Once he had plundered a villages' worth of memories, he informed her, doubtfully, "teal."

" _Isn't that so pretty?_ " She squealed.


	13. The Whisperer

_This is when the girl lived._

* * *

 _I can ask her. I can do it._

Everywhere, Miku sat as though sitting at a piano. A strict teacher had branded the instinct into her body. Sometimes she poised her hands as well, although at the moment they were busy.

Soon she dropped her braid and gazed into the mirror. A copy of her face was plastered on its cool, reflective skin.

Not a single one of one of her grey-brown hairs had managed to fly out of place. It didn't hurt to check for strays, so she continued to inspect herself.

She wondered when her eyes had become so dull. They were drying out, soon to become raisins. Once upon a time, they had been a rich baby blue, the kind that relatives coo about when they gawk at an infant in its cradle. Over the years they had collected an ambiguous gray tint, and now no one could tell what color they were.

The translucence of her flesh made her a garish pink. Blue veins were visible over her chest and wrists. Her lips were the same as worms, plump and dull pink. Her lashes were long, but tragically wispy and light in color. Under her eyes were rings of purple, come from only two sleepless nights. She knew exactly what she resembled, what a few classmates had dutifully spelled out since kindergarten: Ghost.

She was clean, as always. But she still wished she could scrub her face off.

Her hands were freezing. The vanity was still warmer than she was, no matter what she did.

A glossy magazine lay in front of her. It was a borrowed edition, one she would have to return to the librarian come Saturday. The truth was that she didn't want to, because she adored the cover - a young woman with mind-boggling, bright cyan hair. Something about the color drew her towards it. Her face leaned every closer, shrinking the distance until she caught herself and sat back again.

She smoothed down her skirt. Her blouse was safe, an inoffensive beige without any wrinkles. The ugly color appeased any conservative adult.

She lifted her wrist watch to check the time. Three minutes until dinnertime with Mother and Father. From the smell in the kitchen, she guessed that it was pasta. Her stomach spun and curled in on itself. While she didn't mind spaghetti, she didn't think that mother could cook it very well. It was always over-boiled. _The sauce is also too thin, and..._

Maybe she did mind spaghetti a little bit.

She glanced up at herself once again. She looked very little like her mother, who had a confident, womanly face and figure. Regardless, she imagined the woman there, sitting across from her, with impatience sharp on her face.

"Mother," she said, "may I ask you something?"

 _Too meek_ , she criticized, while she was shaking with cold and a touch of apprehension.

She repeated herself, "Mother, I want to talk to you about..."

 _Do I want this or not?_

Was it a fantasy? She shook her head fiercely, enough to turn her dizzy from five shakes.

"I want to be different," she said wistfully, lowering her eyes the the perfectly made-up model.

Two minutes to dinner. She peeled herself away from the mirror and walked away as slow as death.

* * *

Miku waited with her spine uncurving, and her hands in her lap. That's where her eyes, too, were hiding. Her head was tilted down, more demure than she was patient, more cowed than bored.

Her mother's pinched face snapped to the left. Her nails stabbed the table in a frantic rhythm, tapping, tapping, then stopping, then tapping. Her shrewd glare nearly set the doorway into flames.

As soon as Father stepped in, he flinched. "Hello, dear," he grumbled. He tie was stuck in a crooked fashion.

"Seven minutes," Mother hissed, her palms and fingers now flattened against the tabletop. " _Seven_ minutes for a bathroom break. What are you doing in there? Dressing your hair? _Polishing_ your _sword_?"

"It's not as though _you_ would do that for me," he drawled, so weary that you almost couldn't hear him.

Miku choked. It was frightening when they fought, albeit brief. The day must have been harsh on one of them. She wouldn't know, as neither of them liked to confess their feelings. The fact that they even married seemed miraculous, if not arranged for convenience.

"What was that?" Mother was like a blade herself, merciless, lustrous steel.

"Nothing, dear," he consoled her. Anyone could see in his wife's eyes that she didn't believe him; she was no fool. Perhaps for the greater good, she let the argument lie where it was.

"Miku," said the woman, making her daughter jolt,"Pick up your fork, it's time to eat."

Miku nodded. That alone did not appease Mother. If the girl didn't do exactly as she was told, she would never be free of the heavy gaze. Not that she would be safe afterwards. As long as they were all in the same room, she would be under scrutiny.

Praying in her head, Miku plucked the silverware from its setting. She twined a pack of long noodles around her fork. They were thick and glossy. The sauce was absolutely sheer.

She did her best to forget chewing it. Her mind destroyed the memory of every bite. She could never forget swallowing, though, being thoroughly done with a mouthful so had just that little bit less to worry about. When the food plunged into the depths of her stomach, a whisper of serenity trickled through her ear. Mother wasn't watching her after that, although she would still glance back every now and again.

A nonchalant question passed through the air. "How was work?"

A respond met it in gradual succession. "It was...fine...dear."

"Is your boss still giving you trouble?"

"...No, dear." Father's hair used to be the same as Miku's. It was an almost colorless brown, quickly losing saturation. His hairline had withered, as had the whorl in the back of his head. His glasses were the absolute thickest of any that Miku had ever seen. They weighed down his nosebridge, probably a partial cause of his headaches.

A smug smile flitted across her thin red mouth. "I did tell you, didn't I? Just speak to him like a man and he'll finally show you some respect."

The corners of his frown sagged further. "Yes, dear," he affirmed. He seemed disappointed with the meal heaped onto his plate. Even his own child pitied him.

"I'll tell you something, now. Prima called me this morning. Ann's birthday party is next Saturday. I think I should go to the shop across town and get her some nice China. Doesn't that sound like a proper idea?" Mother Announced. If memory served, Prima was her cousin. They talked every once in a while, having grown up together. Unfortunately, Ann was too common a name for Miku to remember the woman right away.

Father kneaded his temples, his glasses slipping even lower down his thin nose. "Is she very interested in dinnerware?"

Mother leaned back a visible distance. "That - that is just a ridiculous question, Kiyoteru," she scoffed, haughty and wry.

"It's a basic question," he answered with a wary look.

With their conversation stagnating, the room felt oddly cold.

"Miku, how is your summer homework coming along?" The girl paused, a doe in the crosshairs of a hunter. She hesitated to put more pasta into her mouth.

Like every student, Miku hated the summer assignments. Her weakest subject was English, to Mother's chagrin. The math components were over with much quicker than the book, but she still completed her assigned work. "...I finished my essay."

Her sharply arched brows raised almost in condescension. "I'll be looking over that in a couple of days."

"I also finished the extra credit work," Miku murmured. "For English and European History."

"I see. Then we'll fill up your free hour with some other reading," her mother commanded. As the child had hoped, she almost appeased her mother's hunger for labor. Almost.

"Mother, I was wondering-" Miku said only this before the interruption.

"Do you feel ill? You're eating too slowly," Mother asked.

"Only a little bit, Mother." She bit her tongue. When she tasted metal, she bit deeper. Then, and only then, was there a palatable flavor.

"Take some Pepto Bysmol after dinner, if you like." The matriarch never seemed to have trouble tucking into her dishes, even though she wasn't a grand cook by any standards. Still, enthusiasm did not propel her. Every flick of the wrist, every motion of the jaw, was methodical. She moved on a constant rhythm, like a ticking clock that couldn't wait to scream, "Six o'clock! Dinner is over! Off with you now!"

"Mother-" the girl whispered once more.

"Did you finish your math work?" Father allowed himself to show more vigor. Every once in a while his sagging, drying flesh filled the shape of his younger self. When this happened, Miku felt herself relax and loosen down. The security of a father figure meant a great deal to her.

"I did. I hope you'll look it over after dinner," she told him.

He halted, almost smirking with his flat mouth. "I don't think you need my help there. But I can check if it makes you feel better."

"It does, Daddy." Her fear did a curious thing where it slipped into the background, waiting its turn. The air was softer, more pleasant to breathe.

His head drooped to the side. "I can't even remember the last time you had trouble. What was it...dividing decimals. As old as you are, you should be helping me with that." While an exaggeration, Miku found herself flatter by his comment. She knew that she was at least good at mathematics, if not anything else, and she owed much of her understanding to Kiyoteru's teaching.

Mother was pleased with the sight. She was, after all, a mother, and familial love gave her great pleasure. Whenever something went the way she wanted it to, she was proud of herself. She folded her hands while watching them. That was the most docile she could be.

 _Perfect_. Miku thought to strike while the iron was hot. Riding on that crest of courage, she cheeped, "Mother."

"What is it?" She sang, pleasant as a Disney princess.

"I think I'm old enough to say...I want to change my hair color."

Who knew that a look could be so boiling hot and ice cold at the same time?

She knew. She knew the question was silly, knew that she would be turned down and maybe even scolded. Being sixteen made her more reckless than ever. A nice change was all she hoped for. If only she could burst out of her own skin.

"What color were you thinking?" Father casually inquired, raising his fork to his mouth.

Her heart fluttered. "I-I...wanted to try..."

"What a frivolous thing to say," mother barked, slapping her palms down on the table. "You're _not_ an adult. You can't decide what to do with your body at this age."

"But mother, I don't like my-"

"Don't you talk back to me!"

Father rose a bit. He looked larger when he did this. He could have been a superhero, especially in his daughter's eyes. "Now, Meiko," He began.

She whipped around. "I don't need it from you, either. Not a word," she seethed. Her teeth were sharp and white and gnashing.

The man vanished. Father sank into his seat, now a soft and grey shell of himself. "Yes, dear," he echoed.

 _Oh._

Miku clenched her teeth to restrain tears of disappointment. She spoke, "I just want to change."

" _Finish_ ," Mother warned her, "you're eating too slowly."

* * *

 _"Isn't that so pretty?"_


	14. Empty

The paper looked like fire under the floor-lamp's severe glow.

Miku's pupils were beginning to strain. There was a twinge of pain between her eyes that made her brow crease.

She would have liked to watch some T.V. instead, so that she could be a thoughtless doll for a half hour. But she wouldn't be able to come close to the remote while Mother was still furious.

She was not only furious, but offended. She had _made_ Miku, the blood and flesh of both a husband and a wife. Why should the girl be so ungrateful as to change a single thing?

Miku appreciated the gravity of those sentiments. After all, it was a very positive message: "Love yourself as much as you love your parents!" The thing was, though, the brunette didn't love them all that much.

Or, rather, she didn't like them.

Everything she'd ever read or heard told her that families were supposed to make you feel safe and happy. A mother's arms were a haven, set away from the chaos outside the family home. Fathers were supposed to be strong and protective.

If their roles were simply reversed, she wouldn't be so upset. The case was that they simply weren't very likeable. Meiko, the staid head of the family, and Kiyoteru, the tired, henpecked provider. Then their ingenuous child who didn't have any talents or friends. They didn't make a very lovely picture all together. Because she was young, and also easily bullied, Miku had accepted all of this for as long as she could.

Everyone seemed to forget something very important. It was easily hidden with a plain face, and plain clothes, and a schedule that consisted entirely of studies and academic work. Because she seemed so much like her mother's doll, everyone forgot that she was going to be a young woman. No, she _was_ a young woman. This was the age where she treaded on the edge of adulthood, but no one seemed to care. Did they honestly think that she would walk out of her parent's home to Harvard or Yale one day, a grown-up lady that sprang from a little girl?

 _I'm sick of this now._

She closed her book and placed it on the arm of the couch.

"Is your homework still up in your room?" Father asked, all sweet and quiet. Miku glanced up at him. He was still soft, this time with remorse.

She nodded her head, feigning interest in the hard cover of her novel. She didn't even know it's title. If she wasn't being pressured by an adult, she hardly desired to study or annotate. She had little interest in reading. What had her attention was the texture of it's spine, and the rich scent of old paper.

He lumbered over and then sat, with much difficulty, next to her. She averted her gaze.

"Are you angry?" he entreated. He toyed with the end of her braid.

"No," she mumbled, twisting away.

"Yes, you are," he sighed.

Her throat tightened. She didn't want sadness slip into her voice. "If you can't believe me, don't ask."

He grunted in disapproval. "I'm not saying you can't be upset. Just don't pretend that no one can understand you."

She looked at him cautiously. Gravity pulled on his helpless, aged face, tugging down his jowls and his eyelids and, of course, those glasses that threatened to slide off of his face. He was thirty-nine years old, but he seemed more on the brink of collapse than an ancient Roman temple.

"I want to try teal," she told him.

"That's a very...strong color," he acknowledged, dropping the strands that he had been holding.

"I know."

"You know...okay, then, do you know how your mother feels about your hair? She's jealous of it. She wishes hers had been as nice when she was your age."

"That's weird," she said, wrapping her arms around herself. Her skepticism came from her self image. Mother was the one with thick, lush locks, and they were a richer shade of brown that only added to her beauty.

"It's typical of parents to experience things vicariously through their children. If you have nice hair and a degree, she'll feel as though she has those things."

"I can keep it nice. I just don't want it to look like this," Miku argued, although she never raised her voice over the limits of a whisper.

"Appearance isn't everything," Father chided.

"Then why is she trying to control how I look?"

"It's colored hair, Miku. Why is it important to you?"

"You don't know," she mourned, "if I went missing in a crowd, how many people do you think would notice me?"

He grabbed his daughters frigid hand, squeezing as he gave his oath, "I could find you in a crowded stadium in two seconds."

She lowered head. "But _I_ couldn't. I would look straight at myself and see nothing."

"Sssh'" he shuffled even closer. His arms encircled her almost completely. He took his other hand to smooth her bangs away from her eyes. "It's okay...your mother has made sure you'll _never_ have to find yourself."

Miku jerked, the fresh horror slithering into her stomach. The crook of his arm was too tightly wrapped around her shoulder.

 _There's no room to grow here._

* * *

At eight-thirty p.m., Miku still tasted toothpaste in her mouth. The bed was okay beneath her.

Not the greatest state in the world - it was much to hard and much too cold. It was okay, nonetheless.

With her covers up to her chin and her feet swathed in a comforter, she felt distinctly safe. Childish, too, except she decided that didn't count at bedtime.

The room turned empty and lonely once all the light was sapped from it. _I'm not small anymore_ , she admonished, and after a few minutes of this she finally managed to believe it. Monsters did not lay beneath her bed. If they could, she was not a baby that would be so easily devoured.

Vampires used to be the most scary creature she'd ever heard of. They were cursed to immortality, hiding from the sun, preying on the innocent living. Back in the fourth grade, a mere mention of blood-suckers made her skin crawl. Schoolmates, upon realizing this, would bother about Dracula and other such undead celebrities. It was easy to set her off in her earlier schooling years. Kids would joke about her being drained to death, and it would make her cry. She would turn puffy and red, her nose running like a waterfall. This reaction was an amusement to all but herself. "Every last drop is gonna be gone and you'll go to hell," they jeered, "That is, if you're not already dead, Ghost."

She still didn't have a keen grasp on death. The more apparent problem, to her, was the caveat of immortality. Eternity just sounded bad - she imagined that it still included time, but there was no end. It was the same pulse of all life, the routines and deadlines, only there was no liberation after seventy years.

Philosophical musings are not good for sleep. She switched to counting sheep, watching the big black nothing above her head.

"No, dear," father mumbled from the distance. Miku was roused by this noise.

Then, rampant foot falls hurtled past her room, a subbeat to Mother's assertion, "I've already said no."

If Miku got up and knelt at the not-so-closed bedroom door, she would hear more distinctly what her parents were arguing about. Without that clarity, she only made out her mother's hissing and her father's timbre of resignation.

She counted the usual 45 seconds, like she had been doing since she was twelve. They reached their loudest at 30 seconds, finding their climax, before dwindling into another steady stream of bickering. The resolution should be just around the corner. It had to be.

"Is it not my job to care?" Mother whisper-screamed.

Miku's stomach keeled over once more. 39...40...41...

"She's already a teenager, dear," Father dissented, in a voice that was losing its passion.

"And what of it? She's my child. _You're_ supposed to be a parent as well," said Mother, with condemning certitude. Usually she didn't have to exert herself in arguments about their daughter. Meiko was right, and Kiyoteru...Kiyoteru was her assistance, not much else.

"I am, dear." _49...50...oh, no...52..._

Could she count on Kiyoteru to spin this battle to their advantage? It felt wrong to root against her mom, but at the same time she craved a victory.

"Well, do me a favor and act like a man!"

The talk began to spiral into another noise, dancing away somewhere in the ominous distance. Miku didn't bother with attempting to make out any more.

* * *

 _Is she dreaming?_

 _It's very warm._

 _That's the strangest part._

 _She feels that something is pouring out of her, and with every drop of that something, she loses an ounce of strength. The gravity that binds her to the earth is weakening. This sense of weightlessness is still not odd enough to compete with the temperature._

 _It's hard to keep her eyes open._

 _Someone murmurs frantically. The warmth cups her cheeks._

 _If she could keep everything exactly this way forever, it might not be so mad._

 _Although, someone sounds like they're about to cry..._

 _"Hello..." She can't speak, although she tries. Her chest is closed, like her throat has been twisted into a knot and smashed. Now that reality has caught up with her, she knows about the immense stress on all of her limbs. They're all so heavy that they suffer at the slightest twitch._

 _Once she is aware, she refuses to move._

 _Someone is about to cry. It isn't Mother or Father. Suddenly she wants them, too. Could them be close by? She wants to reach out but her body won't do as she desires._

 _The air is sad and pungent._

 _If it wasn't for the warmth, she'd be terrified._


	15. Stuff

She was there again. She looked like she had been bleached, a bright figure against everything. It made her even more spectral, somewhat ominous again. She was within arms length, but still more distant than before. Her face was inaccessible; her gaze was hidden somewhere beneath her bangs.

 **I should know you from somewhere** , he admitted. He grabbed her hand. She held on limply, annoying him with her lukewarm response.

 _I'm sure you don't._

 **Then why are you haunting me?** His own question. The dream had provided Len with a shocking amount of autonomy. He wanted to test it out some more, so he reached for her cheek. With some cajoling, he managed to get a good look at her eyes.

They were a sunless, matte gray, without a hint of green. Which reminded him, more than the sensation of her hands, that she was dead.

He jumped back, staggering a couple of steps. **Why are you here?**

She looked like Lily, forcing joy on her face. As if his head had been locked into place, he couldn't turn away from her. He had to watch as she talked, watch as she backed away from him with little, fluid steps.

He was more worried by her fading colors than the growing distance between them.  
A strange echo managed to bounce around the space. Even though, supposedly, there were no walls.

 _There's a wife who orders, and a husband who obeys._

 _The father who flees, and the mother who remains._

 _The sister is a brow-beater and the brother is a mollycoddler._

 _I whisper_ , she told him, _and you listen._

* * *

 _"You suck at doing anything by yourself!"_

Broken glass. Crushed flowers. Torn paintings. Whoever called out was devastated. _They're home now?_

Len's head shot up from the table. He quickly swiped the drool off of his cheek and glanced around.

Rain was attacking all sides of the house, sounding out a war cry that made even the toughest bones liquefy. The dark, thunderous sky blackened the windows.

He'd never turned on the kitchen light, so he sat in utter darkness. He expected to be alone in there, only he wasn't.

"Oh," the boy muttered. "Hi."

The man pulled the cigarette from his chapped lips, giving Len an awkward and lengthy side-glance. Gray stubble covered his hatchet-sharp jawline.

"You...?" Len watched the white stick, which remained unlit, but still produced a bounty of smoke. _I didn't know they could do that without bodies._

The weary Traveler puffed once more and went back to gazing in the direction of the oven. Len was positive that he'd never lived in the house, simply came to visit every now and again. He was the kind of spirit that you saw when coming down for a glass of water on a peaceful winter night.

"Is it cold now?" Len found himself asking.

" _I'm outta smokes_ ," Traveler answered with a gravelly, certainly cancerous voice.

"That's good," the teen responded thoughtlessly. He finally realized that there was a light down the hall, where there was an actual ruckus occurring.

Something slammed the wall. The noise was almost painful, but Len didn't think much of it since it was competing with a clap of thunder.

His legs were rubbery as he forced himself to stand. Like a stranger, he wandered over to the living room and peeked around the corner, careful to stop before anyone could see him.

"Rin," Mom cried. Someone was barreling up the stairs. Len didn't pay any mind, instead gripped by concern. His mother had scarcely every looked so wretched. Her face was wrenched with agony, her eyes and nose beet-red.

"Sit down, Lil. You're tired, aren't you?" Leon eased her into Dad's chair, which served to make her groan even louder. She strangled a handful of his jacket in her fists, pressing her face against his shoulder - and he provided ample space for her to do this. He stroked the back of her golden head.

"I'm so sorry," she wailed, punctuated by gasps.

"Ssh...no, don't...don't. It's not something for you to apologise for."

"I'm trying my best," she swore, "I'm _trying_ , but it's so - it's too hard."

"Yes," he whispered, "sssh," his hands lost in her hair, "you've done this by yourself for a long time. Don't quit now."

She protested. "No, I can't do it anymore."

"They can't quit being fatherless, can they? And if they can't, we can't. You lost your husband, I lost my brother...there's no way out. Most importantly, no one should follow him into the void."

"She hates me," Lily murmured brokenly, a liter of tears falling from her eyes.

"That's silly. She's just angry," Uncle Leon promised her. He sounded distant. He and Lily seemed to be far away, hidden at the end of a long tunnel. If they ever noticed the boy, they didn't indicate it.

Len gained speed with the rage bouncing in his blood. He completely forgot about Stair-Bro, charging straight through the apparition. His hands were empty, and for a second he wanted to do _something._ He didn't know for sure what it was, but he did know that he was sick to death of Rin.

The though of Rinto pissed him off as well. Had his elder brother done anything to stop her? Whatever it was, it wasn't enough. They were both in trouble.

 _You warn me about crossing the line and then you go and do something like this? I'm going to burn you at the stake!_

Not that there was really much he could do against them; he was still younger, and probably physically weaker. He just refused the idea of letting them go unpunished, since the adults were out of action.

After almost falling on his face, he happened to pause in front of the Game Room, which had become flooded with sobs.

The wet noise touched his anger and cooled it away. Someone had neglected to completely close the door. Just enough space remained in the crack, so he could place his head near and survey the room with one eye.

Under the shroud of complete black, the room was much more terrifying. Even if it was an average day, he would've hesitated to enter the room. A chance strike of lightning set the darkness away for a half second; Rin was a tightly-curled ball on the floor. She crushed a black-and-white doll against her chest. It's head lolled away from her. Rinto was crouched next to her, against her back. With hands lighter than dust, he patted her head.

When the storm's roaring wind and unforgiving rain had lulled, he certainly heard her whimpering.

"I want him back," she begged.

"I know," Rinto replied, completely unshakeable even when he was using that sweet and gentle sympathetic tone. Proud, firm, strong, like the mighty oak tree. He was going to grow up and continue being the strongest one.

"I want everything back," she shouted, her voice crashing on the cadence of each sob. "I want Family Movie Night and Family Dinners, and-"

"We have a family," he reminded her.

"We only have _this_ ," she retorted, choking. "Once Uncle Leo is gone, its back to...Mom, dying slowly, and Len playing with his goddamned _ghosts_..."

Rinto sighed, leanings down to throw his arms around her in a leisurely embrace. "Nothing lasts forever. You need to be grateful for what we still have."

Another beat of lightning, so close to the last, splashed them in white once more. Len could see the round black ears and hand-opening on the little doll Rin held. She smushed it ever closer to her heart.

When the light dissipated like smoke, she murmured one more thing. It was a sound forever lost as Rinto dragged her up into a proper hug. Although stiff for a moment, she reciprocated with equal affection. The panda puppet dropped gingerly into her lap.

A piece of his heart was steeled against them. That piece wanted him to charge into the room and antagonize his siblings, even if not in the name of justice. It had quickly become the smallest influence on his actions. A new sense of tragedy transformed his mouth into desert sands. He had nothing to gain from a single word, and knowing this made him feel ancient.

He was better off listening, in the end.

* * *

 _Dad was hot like a woodstove. If you laid your head on his chest, you would hear his dependable heart, going off ba-bump, and then again, ba-bump, and then even more ba-bump, the timepiece that would never fail you._

 _The boy and girl in his lap watched carefully as he turned to a new page in their book. It was a happy brown dog, wagging his tail._

 _"So, what does the dog say?" He questioned, turned down at his little ones._

 _"Woof, woof!" Rinto shouted, bouncing up and down. Dad grinned at him, and opened his mouth to answer. Before his tongue could push out a word -_

 _"He says 'Arf arf!'" Rin protested._

 _"You know, he says both," he assured them. He flipped to the next page with his thumb, revealing a self-satisfied red rooster._

 _"What does the rooster say?"_

 _The children paused, their little faces twisted with effort as they pondered._

 _"He says 'Cock-a-doodle-doo!'" Rin said, mimicking the loud croon of a rooster. "But he also says 'ba-cock!'"_

 _"I think that one is what a girl chicken says, Sweetie. Roosters are boy chickens."_

 _"Hens," Rinto corrected._

 _"Right, hens." The children snuggled closer, trying to embed themselves in his sides. They took up so much space already; toddlers turned into preschoolers very quickly. There was scarcely enough for his outstretched arms to move. He found rhe next page, a fat pig in a happy puddle of mud._

 _"Daddy, what sound does a rabbit make?" Tonio turned back to his daughter's wide blue eyes._

 _"I...guess they make rabbit noises," he shrugged._

 _Dissatisfied, Rin grabbed his arm and began to shake it. "What's a rabbit noise?" She demanded._

 _"Daddy doesn't know everything," Tonio apologized, carefully removing his arm from her weak grasp. Her chubby, tiny fingers clung to his._

 _The father lowered his gaze to his feet, where Len was pushing around his toy roadroller._

 _"Hey, Len, what does the pig say?"_

 _When said child let go of the toy, it went rolling until it bumped into a cluster of Hot Wheels. He blinked, his eyes innocent but eerily distant._

 _"Oink," he deadpanned._

 _"Good," the man praised._

 _"The cow goes 'moo.'"_

 _That, too. What does the goat say?"_

 _"Boo!" Rin cried, flinging her hands up, and in the process, backhanding Tonio._

 _"Gaaah - no, sweetheart, that's a ghost. A GOAT says," he concluded by bleating like a mountain goat._

 _The elder two giggled with intense delight. "Again, Daddy, again!" Rinto almost launched himself into the air._

 _"They can scream sometimes," Len mumbled, dropping his head against his father's knee._

 _Tonio flinched. "What's that?"_

 _"Bunnies. Rabbits. They'll scream so loud if you cut them." The round, small face was still empty of malice and awareness._

 _Tonio's stomach flattened, squished by boatloads of horror. "How do you know that?"_

 _"The lady in the park says it."_

 _Dad narrowed his eyes. This was not the first time that lady came up in conversation. There was no such woman - he always watched when the children played in the park, and they weren't allowed to speak to strangers. "You saw it on TV, didn't you? You're not allowed to watch anymore! There are too many adult shows." Even though, clearly, that was almost impossible as well. Lily made sure that they were engaged in other ways, like child-friendly games, when he was away with work. No way his wife would be so careless as to let them watch a TV show by themselves, especially in this day and age when anything could air?_

 _"Len has an invisible friend," Rinto babbled, almost in defense of his littler brother, "he says she looks sad."_

 _"There are_ no _invisible friends. Things like imaginary ladies and ghosts and toothfairies - those aren't real! Len, stop blaming things on the Lady and the Dark Man and the Stair Guy, alright?" Tonio didn't realize how close he was to yelling into he realized all three of his triplets were on away from him forcing a distance with this skittish silence._

 _Len didn't understand any better because of the scolding, at any rate. He made it clear with his dewy eyes and sharp frown that he didn't know what he had said wrong._

 **He can remember all those fanciful characters. And he keeps track of what they "say" well enough. But he still doesn't understand what he's hearing.**

 _The father chucked the book to the coffee table and sighed into his hand."You shouldn't talk about them anymore."_


	16. Hollow

Lightning winked not far from their house.

Rain tickled the window. The pattering was the same, a barrage of precipitation, and for every second that it refused to let up Miku grew evermore anxious. She hadn't been unaware of the forecast, but she _had_ been pretending that it didn't exist. Her delusion was cracking under the pressure; her reality was that she would be stuck in the house all day. As if meant for an omen, the pungent scent of Lemon Pledge tinged the kitchen.

Father sat next to her all morning. He had been lost in thought for a particularly long time, slack-jawed, with his head hanging over the cereal bowl. Thirteen minutes had passed since she last saw his eyes move, and she was now debating whether or not she could poke him in the face to check if he was still alive.

Now that it was seven-fifteen a.m., mother was going to snap at him, _pick up the pace, man!_ And he'd rise to her call like a machine once more. The man was not alright.

"Is this the breakfast table or a church pew?" Mother joked, but not without a genuine threat laced between the words. Father seemed to touch reality at the sound of her voice, feeling the weight of the spoon in his hand. He scooped up some corn flakes and started to break them down at an excruciating, sluggish pace. There was something particularly fragile about him today; instead of amorphous and pliable, he was brittle and thin. The smallest application of force would cause him to disintegrate. And his pallor! The resemblance between father and daughter had never been strong, but now they could both pass for corpses which shambled among the living. Miku clutched her heart with the idea that she could persuade it to decelerate.

The woman flowed into her seat and reached for her fork, her fingers stopping just short of the utensil when her arm jerked still.

"Why are you angry with me?" She demanded, her brows shifting into a disdainful arch. Her chest was wide. Her collarbone fell straight and sharp, accentuating the length of her powerful, graceful shoulders. One was always gazing up when they looked at her, observing these long, intense shapes that made her so visually distinguished. And for certain one was compelled to seal their lips when she spoke, but,

ah, Miku was at that reckless and restless age.

She swung her head left to right. "I never said I was angry, Mother!"

An immediate slam on the table made her shut up. "I didn't ask you to argue!...I asked you to explain. You're nearly an adult. Surely you can tell the difference between the two things?"

The words pierced flesh with little to no effort, and pinned Miku to the wall. She gaped at her mom. Upon closer inspection, Meiko's hawk-like gaze was strengthened this morning because of the dark circles that framed her almond eyes. The hint of weakness was rare and, honestly, exciting, albeit in the worst possible context. This signature of exhaustion was a new way in which this family matched. Aside from that, light faded from their eyes at nearly the same pace.

Another streak of lightning blessed the sky with its presence.

* * *

 _He married for love._

 _Could you believe it? He couldn't, not anymore._

 _But that had been the goal. Any man who settles down before thirty years is bound to be ridiculed a little bit. There was no reason to settle at his age, and he had been told as much when the engagement was announced._

 _It isn't settling, he assured himself. Meiko was not a compromise, but a mission._

 _That was really the only objection he'd received. No real questions were posed against the match, and so something holy took place in the church of their childhood town._

 _He had faced his bride before his friends, before his family, before a god whom he hadn't even spoken to since his Confirmation. A giddy sun had smiled on them._

 _In the midst of all these people, he promised that he adored this ferocity in Meiko's eyes. Her meticulous blueprints for the future were endearing, sure signs of her affection for him and their future children._

 _"Everything," she had whispered, something that at the time sounded loud enough to scrape the heavens, "Everything, down to the very last second will be perfect. That is what I planned it to be."_

 _And that was out of love, too, wasn't it?_

 _Love, and not an obsessive, domineering tendency?_

 _Love was real._

 _Love burned his old blood and bones - seared him from the inside out. Surely that was the weight that dragged him to the ground, the abundance of love that he refused to let go of._

 _And swallowing his objections, washing down the bitterness with learned complacency, wasn't that also an act of love?_

 _There was something quite romantic about growing old with the woman he married, although he never anticipated that he would skid through thirty-five years when reality had only passed about seventeen. The gray of an aging man came so quickly, but it was certainly, completely, without a shadow of a doubt, the ideal sacrifice._

 _Biting the bullet had gotten him somewhere, but he didn't know where, and he didn't know what the goal was anymore. Aimlessness was more painful than the needle point of a compass, but that's not something that your friends warn you about when you introduce your fiance._

 _There was no time to breathe; life was not on the schedule. He was too slow in the bathroom. He was a half our late for being an hour early to work. Dinner was in ten hours and he hadn't even started working up an appetite for lunch. His tie was crooked, but his hands weren't deft enough to reach it anymore._

With the power of love, he boosted himself from the chair and quested for an exit.

"Where are you going, Kiyoteru?" Love turned her voice piquant.

"To work, dear."

Her pause made everything else pause as well, even the indifferent rain. "In that state?"

 _Maybe that was love, too, which eased him into surrender. He wasn't okay with not answering, but fighting her most acidic tone was a sharp juxtaposition to what he had promised on their wedding day._

"Daddy."

 _He married for love._

"Yes?" He fought his robotic tone and forced his eyes to wake - to widen - while Miku scampered towards him.

 _He didn't want to fight anyone, he only wanted to preserve something he believed in._

Miku grasped his tie and straightened the knot, pushing it up against his collar. She smoothed her hand down the fabric, her slim fingers moving only in confident strokes.

 _Then, there was this softening, an ease in his soul came every time he looked at his daughters eyes. Wherever could she have gotten that delicate, thoughtful green gaze? It was this sweet and unexpected feeling which stole his breath. He marveled at the surge of protective, instinctive fondness which came as naturally as a heartbeat._

 _Certainly there was love in that._

* * *

 _"And as a result," he said, his voice rising and falling in a sing-song cadence, "what do we have for x?"_

 _Miku thought deeply, her face scrunched up with the effort. "X equals 4." Then her face popped into a smile. So delighted was the girl that Kiyoteru could count all of the teeth in her grin. Her left incisor could not be part of the census - they'd traded it for two shiny quarters from the Tooth Fairy. It had been difficult - what with Meiko insisting that no such fairy would ever come to their house, but this was the one way in which he had managed to say otherwise, declaring that the tooth fairy must have truly favored Miku's tooth._

 _But he didn't win the ensuing fight. One hit, and he fell out. It still stung._

 _The little girl scratched the answer into the paper, and then continued to beam up at her father. She, for the most part, seemed fine._

 _"See, you're learning even faster than I learned," he praised._

 _"Is it because your daddy couldn't teach you algebra?"_

 _He sighed. "My dad couldn't teach anything. He was too far away." Almost hesitantly, he peeled the worksheets off the desk and piled them onto the rest of the papers, all of which were filled with basic algebra problems. Although she required some assistance, his daughter never got an incorrect answer._

 _Miku took a cue from him and stuck her Ticonderoga back into the Hello Kitty pencil pouch. Her fingers nearly got stuck in the zipper. She did much better with buttons. "Heaven_ is _very far, right? It must be even farther than Aunty Sachiko's house."_

 _"Oh, it's certainly farther than that, sweetheart," he said. She reached up and rubbed his swollen cheek with as little pressure as her teeny-tiny hands could muster._

 _"How do you go there?" Something in her somber, rosy face told him that she knew more about it than she needed to ask. Was it a trick question? Miku didn't have a tendency for those - she didn't even ask "why" very often, which was unique for a kindergartener._

 _Of course, Meiko didn't want someone questioning her authority._

 _"You...you...take the last turn on the longest road..." or the first turn on the shortest road, or the wrong turn on the right one...or you drive straight..._

 _So long as you close your eyes, it ends in the same mess of blood and glass...and some speculation. Because, with everything that you do, who knows if you deserve heaven instead of a blank limbo?_


	17. Cram

It was still considerably gloomy. The sun was definitely in the sky, smothered behind some storm clouds. Len couldn't believe how much he missed daylight now that he didn't have it.

For once the clock could not be heard. Without that sound there was an almost pleasant ambience, one without pressure or change. Even though water slammed every house in the county, and it was certainly not getting better, it also refrained from taking a turn for the worst. He almost enjoyed tell limbo of consistency, but something about it also terrified him. The only thing louder than the growling thunder was Leon, whose lengthy snores nearly shook the house.

 _Guess he's got sleep apnea._

Outside, it sounded like a twelve second recording of a hurricane was being played on repeat. Uncle Leon's jaw slacked open as he breathed. He was an incredibly messy sleeper, having kicked his blanket halfway onto the floor. His lanky limbs took up most of the couch. Len allowed himself, with much internal debate, to sit in Dad's chair. It took a while for his butt to actually land. It felt strange. The living room looked foreign from this new angle. He checked around. Save for the man, Len was the only person there. It seemed oddly spacious. He helped his breath and waited. Still no one else. When had he last been alone for so long, with nothing to think about?

The lack of stimulus was now making him nervous.

He picked up the stocky little T.V. remote and began flipping through channels. A couple shows filled the screen with a NO SIGNAL notice. A few sitcoms were on. Len settled on the local news channel, with anchors that looked like a middle-aged Barbie dolls. Rinto had insisted that their mouths were painted on, and their hairstyles were molded plastic. "No man's hair is that voluminous," he cried, "And, God, no woman's teeth are that white."

The plastic-looking Meteorologist described the dreadful wind and rain that would surely keep everyone locked in their houses for the next day. Their town wasn't even getting the worst of it - they would be passed over, and the city next to them would be slammed with floods and possibly blackouts.

 _That sounds like someone may die,_ Len figured. He couldn't help but wonder about the coming accidents, filling in every horrible detail. His imagination surged at the idea of a Hurricane. He was instantly disgusted with himself.

Leon snorted sharply before falling from his makeshift bed. "...whazZAT?" He cried.

Len observed the uncle as he collected his wits. It was the same as watching a dog bark itself out of a nightmare. Once he had familiarized himself with his surroundings, his body turned loose and limp again. He sat cross-legged with his head against the couch cushion, gazing up as though he was watching someone move on the ceiling.

"It's bad out there," he muttered slowly. "I knew it was gonna rain when I came, but I...didn't think it would be such an awkward thing."

"..."

The forecast droned on. The weatherman pointed at cold fronts and temperature readings with robotic speed. The clock was still relatively mute.

"...I hope it didn't ruin any plan of yours. Your little friends probably wish you could come out, don't they?" Leon attempted, his eyes earnest and hopeful. But they were still beady and black, so his expression didn't fit his face quite right.

Len couldn't help but sneer, albeit with less malice than . "You picked this week so that you could use the storm as an excuse for your boss. Otherwise, you would have showed up on Thanksgiving."

A sliver of Len's ice pierced the man's heart. His face contorted with a mild amount of pain. "You make me sound so conniving. I came yesterday because it was closest to your birthday."

"You don't even know how old I am."

"You're..." Leon turned away.

" _The same age_ as Rin and Rinto."

"...No," the man mumbled.

"What?" The boy challenged, his voice falling into a pit of muffled hostility. Although he masked the hate in his voice with a modest volume, it was obviously sharp.

Sliding a hand over his sleep-caked face, Leon explained, "Rinto was born at eleven-o'-one; Rin came about minutes after that. Then you were born at about one o'clock the next day."

 _Wow, that's lame_ , Len thought with a laugh, "I was born at midnight."

The elder blond looked painfully apologetic then. "You've always lagged behind a little bit."

Len was desperate for something to respond with. All of his wit, which was miniscule to begin with, fell short of the task. "Weirdo," he blundered.

"Is that what I am? I think I'm more tragic than kooky." Leon smiled.

"A sad clown is still a clown." Much better for a retort.

You can't waterboard a fish, bud - nothing you say will really insult me if it's true."

* * *

At three-fourty-eight p.m., the afternoon slump had made everything an effective torture. The day continued to drag, what with the rain still beating into the earth, and the day's activities mostly that of reflection. To put it in mother's words, "a day spent in the home may as well be a day of review." She wasted no time with cracking down on the texts for Miku's upcoming school year.

The brunette dragged her pencil across the notepad, pretending, ultimately, to practice conjugation.

There was no way to watch Meiko without making it obvious. Maybe if you had ten minutes of spare time, you could adjust yourself like Miku did - at the dinner table, with your head low, turning just so - and maybe see a stiff, feminine body in the corner if your eye. But there was no way to focused on her and properly interpret her face from that angle. To make matters worse, you didn't know if she could see you peeping at her. Staring was rude and could be reprimanded harshly. The danger inspired fear, and fear prompted inaction. This inaction, this complacency, felt natural and wrong all in one.

 _Yo quiero dormir_ , the girl wrote, trying to blink the sleep off of her eyelids. _Querer_ was too easy a verb to practice, let alone in those little sentences she thought up, but she didn't have enough energy to try something otherwise. She'd rather get scolded later, as opposed to right then and there. Mother would see her work soon enough. Maybe they might go deep into the night, only working together for some language that neither of them cared about. Which would be okay. It wasn't like Miku had any plans of her own. Getting up early was strictly mother's call, and if mother herself changed the schedule, who in the world could disagree?

"This is a good introduction," the woman thought aloud. "I almost don't believe it's yours." Miku felt the eyes lay on her, two rich brown weights that cause physical pain as they stayed on her face.

"Thank you, Mother. I did my best." _Quiero terminar_ , she added on a fresh new line. It didn't have any meaning to Miku, who was writing the first words that she remembered. Altogether it looked more like an art than writing. The letters were uniform in height and spacing, curled with the grace of practice. This was what Miku knew how to do: Sharpen her skills, create weapons that she had no desire to wield. Her hands knew the steps to countless songs on a piano. She didn't so much as care about what those songs were called. Somehow she was training with no set goal of her own, scurrying on a hamster wheel. This was the way she would go mad.

"...It's an average paragraph built on an average thesis," Meiko concluded, dropping the essay. _There it is_ , Miku mourned, _the sting of disapproval_.

"Should I fix it then?" Carefully, she turned her face up. She noticed that hand had stopped writing and jotted down one more sentence for the sake of appearances, not wondering about what the words even meant. _Quiero morir._

Meiko cocked her head as though she needed to consider the proposition. It was obvious to her that the essay needed to be completely rewritten. "It's three-fifty, though," she said, "come with me. We'll bake cookies."

* * *

Len watched his mother slide her knife through the onion. No water made itself known in her eyes. She had run out of tears to shed.

"...what are you making?" he asked softly. He felt ashamed, entering the kitchen with caution as if there was a risk of her booting him out.

"oh," she said numbly, "I haven't decided, I just...I needed to go ahead and start something." She replace a blond string behind her ear. After another chop she ended up with two mishapen white chunks. The deliberate way in which she cut the vegetable quickly concerned him.

He reached for the wooden handle in her hold. "Are you in the mood for pizza? Let's heat up some Digiorno."

" _I'm_ making us dinner," she enjoined him. There was a dark presence in her, something that made her look wild and broken.

"You don't have to - "

She stopped him with a new curt gesture. She held the blade far away from him, but the swing of both her arms made him step back. "I'm an adult. I can cook, I can clean, I can raise my own children and afford my own house. I'll do some things on my own. Alright?"

"Aren't you tired?" He squeaked, losing his voice.

"No," She lied.

* * *

Miku stared at the bag of chocolate chips which she gripped. The scissors waited for her on the kitchen island. When she poked them, they were absolutely real.

"Preheat the oven for me," her mother instructed, rearranging containers in the fridge so that she could reach the butter.

"Yes," the child answered numbly. No matter which way she squeezed the bright blue pouch, it was real. The plastic crinkled and shone. This was not some fantastic fever dream. Her senses had not tricked her.

And Mother, she was real too. Miku almost wanted to tug the woman's hair and see if it came off with a puff of dream dust, or if it was attached to a real scalp. But she didn't trust her luck. That would end terribly.

The door flew shut and Meiko stared straight at her daughter. "Do as I say," she stressed.

So Miku dropped the bag and rushed over to the oven, fumbling with the dials until the light burst on inside the cavernous cooking device.

* * *

Len chortled.

"What?" Lily demanded, spinning around. She was not so angry as she was exasperated.

Her son couldn't give her a proper answer. He was sorry for it. If he could stop, he would; she was done, done with everything, and he only seemed like he was mocking her. He thought more of her fading golden glow, the despair that she had been holding onto. If there was some parallel universe where he hated his mother, he was sure it would implode. He couldn't fathom a life without her love.

From the corner of his eye, a stray shadow rolled in front of him. It wobbled drunkenly between them, an emaciated man whose head drooped as he walked. His mouth was locked in a perpetual O of what looked like defeat, displaying the void of his empty throat. The tube would have fit their.

It was the face of depression. All the sleeplessness, all the skipped meals, days without shaving - it all appeared on that face.

Len began to laugh harder.

The horror that splashed Lily's features made him feel like the monster. "Len, stop it!"

* * *

"Don't eat that dough," Meiko scolded, wagging her sharp finger at Miku.

The girls eyes widened. "No, Mother! Of course not!" She knew why she had been warned, though. While stirring the brown chips into the sticky paste, Miku continued to gape into the bowl. A taste of these treats would be savored for a life time, but she was more awed than hungry.

Meiko propped her hands against her hips for a moment. She actually seemed to smile. Some impression of happiness marked her ruby mouth. "I'll tell you a secret," she said, lowering her voice. "When we were still dating, I tried to bake with your father. And he ate half of the cookie dough. Do you know what he got out of it? Sickness. The whole week was awful just because he wouldn't listen to me."

"Ah," the girl responded, only to acknowledge that she had heard. What was running through mother's head?

It couldn't be known. Those chocolate eyes reflected everything, but they revealed nothing. "I'm telling you, don't be tempted. It doesn't take very long to bake, at any rate, so it's no good being impatient." She fixed the baking paper on the metal tray so that it would be perfectly even. Being a millimeter off mark would make her suck her teeth in frustration, and try fixing the alignment again.

Because of this, they ceased talking for an entire minute. Miku took that time to wonder about the cookies for a while longer.

* * *

 _Stop it,_ she'd said. Now he felt moronic, incapable of following a simple direction from his only parent. Rin, if she were feeling vindictive enough, would shank him with a claim of "I told you so." And she would only be in the right, because he really didn't understand. He was just a child listening to adults use words he didn't understand.

He gripped Lily tight, arms crushing her ribcage like a careless misstep crushes the petals of a flower. His reason for that? An impulse of fear.

The shambling ghost with the twisted neck seemed to stare directly at his eyes. It even stopped in its tracks when he looked at it. He saw everything that it couldn't articulate. It washed him with it's own pain.

His laughter never really stopped; it only devolved into a dry, painful noise that he figured must be sobbing.

Although he had no tears, he was crying.

In his periphery, the knife glinted with an off-beat flicker of lightning. It tumbled into the sink with a bang, at the same time as a roaring boom from the sky.

She was confused. _It's okay. She doesn't see it. Even I didn't see it. I had such an easy time ignoring the ugly truth._

The ghost of Tonio wouldn't stop staring at them. The unmistakable black eyes tracked them as though a living person was still behind them.

Len never realized that they shared so many traits. The ears, the slim nose, the lips, and the low brows that seemed to darken his penetrating gaze even more. Len hadn't looked at him in so, so long, hadn't acknowledged him...

He choked. "Do we haunt you? Are we like ghosts that you don't want to see?"

 _Dad got sick and mean and he was wasting away so fast._

 _You couldn't love him anymore, so you stopped, before he was even dead, and it made you feel guilty that you couldn't love him forever. Now you're stuck with us, stuck with the living, and it's even harder to do it alone. Now we're the albatross around your neck. Now it's not even his fault, it's just ours._

Her pause terrified him.

"...no, baby," she whimpered, embracing him. He didn't know if it was him trembling out of insecurity, or her out of contrition.

* * *

The tray slid in on the wire rack and landed in the exact center of the oven, perfectly viewable from the little window. The door shut gently behind it. Now the soft blobs of sugary paste were cradled in a nest of burning hot metal.

Miku stared deeply into the golden inferno. She put her hand up to the vision of warmth, and her fingers slowly slid down. It didn't look appetizing just yet, but then her stomach growled. She quickly threw her arm over it and hushed herself, blooming with embarrassment.

 _Quiero comer._

Rather than snap at her to come back up, Meiko stooped down next to the child. None of the standard distance was between them. They were so close, Miku could smell her classy perfume. It was a delicate scent that seemed more natural than flashy. Perfectly becoming. For someone like her mother, being natural just made sense if you were already so beautiful. _Quiero sonreir._

"See what we've made together?"

Miku nodded sharply.

"This is what we are meant to do all the time, sweetie," the woman sighed too sweetly, draping an arm over her little shoulders. "All you need to do is trust Mommy and follow her lead."

Miku turned to stone.

Meiko was suddenly moving in slow motion, he gentle hand gliding through the air until it landed on her daughter's cheek. She shivered with disgust. She didn't want that vile hand, the wicked hand that could strike black and blue into a man's face if she didn't get what she wanted. The rigid hand that scribed an entire life's plan in black ink. When had that hand ever offered her a treat?

 _My mother is trying to Pavlov me._

 _My mother is unsure._

Meiko _was_ afraid. She knew that, for once, Miku might actually not obey if she wasn't persuasive.

 _Te quiero._

* * *

 **...We're strangers, but when it's bright and warm,**

 **I still think of you.**

 **... so I hope that you think of me.**


	18. Purge

Len decided he should sleep.

He didn't want to. First he wanted to hear Neru reassure him, or Rinto doting on him. Hell, maybe even Rin scolding him. It felt like they were all years away, getting farther while the minutes melted past.

The problem was that he hardly had the strength to lift up the phone. The screen, on its lowest setting, was still as bright as the coming of the messiah. A thick, cottony peace filled his room. As foreign as it was relieving, he wasn't sure that he could fall asleep in the midst of that vibe. Maybe checking up on Stair Bro or Closet Guy would assure him that everything was the same. Could he actually...look for Dad now, too? Was he brave enough to try?

Maybe not. The farthest wall from his bed was starting to blur, and the rest of the room was gradually swallowed in the same haze. The cat nap in the kitchen had been all well and good, but it was time to fall back into bed and really rest.

He sat back, his eyes sliding to a gentle close. _Nothing bad will happen. The worst stuff is over. We've all had a good cry...sort of...and now is the end of this really stupid story._

* * *

"Miku, do you really want to be late for dinner?" The girl lifted her head. She expected her father to be there, but for some reason his patsy blob of a face made her wince.

Kiyoteru smiled, without putting forth any effort to display actual happiness. It pushed him into the uncanny valley, made his every feature look random and tossed on. So thin was the man in front of her, so sheer, that she saw the light of the hallway shine directly through him. The ghost of her future. Thin skin with slim blue veins, like her own, in a papery washed out man.

Did she want to become that?

"You made cookies. We can eat them together," he suggested.

"I'm not hungry," she rejoined hastily. She shifted away again. Afraid that she might say more, she pressed her hand over her mouth, propped up by her elbow on the vanity table. Anywhere was better to look than at the frightening visage of that drained adult. Except, certainly, her own reflection! She had turned a cold grey. The aroma of cookies still clung to her. The depressing smell kept her lunch sloshing about in her stomach.

Now there was no reason to bother with the genial pretenses, and his normal grimness filled him up. With a sickly, slow gait, he approached her from behind. His fingers slid down the length of her pigtails, tracing brunette streams with little purpose. Perhaps he was searching for tangles or for split ends, as mother might have done. If that was the case, he didn't give it away in his sad old eyes.

She sighed into her palm. "Do you remember that time when you ate raw cookie dough?"

"Of course," he said, not without a reasonable tinge of confusion. References to the early courtship of Meiko and Kiyoteru were strange, almost like they were the memories of an entirely different couple. Through his contact with Miku's hair, he seemed to share his stiffness, like a conduction of electricity or heat.

She straightened up, setting her shoulders back into the typical position. "Would you go back if you could?" She'd have to turn back and face him soon. It was rude not to look at someone when they were speaking. She was aware that she avoided eye contact. The last thing she wanted was for Father to think that she was trying to be a jerk.

He lifted her locks and weighed them in his hands. "I got sick," he reminded her.

"But it was special, wasn't it? Mother baked with you, just because she _wanted_ to be _with you_ ," she sighed even deeper at this time.

His lids squeezed down like he wanted them to be sown shut. A breath shot through gritted teeth, sharp and shaky, "Miku, we shouldn't be crying and complaining about those things. I'm right here because I want to stay right here. This is where you are." He held his arms right open to her. Her head did not turn. His patience, just as well, did not dwindle. It lasted until she had plucked up the courage to turn to her phantom father. If nothing else, he was calm, and she wanted something that would make her heart feel as if it were at rest.

The hug was bone-chilling. Neither of them was very warm, nor were their hearts very peaceful. He wouldn't let go of her.

Unless, of course, his wife asked him to.

* * *

The rest of the world was a thousand, or a hundred thousand, or a million miles away.

Time was not.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Len's insides were raw. They were full of an ache that ran through his veins. He felt lost in this space now, which flooded his throat with a tingling fear.

Wrong. Wrong. **Danger?**

He held still, carrying himself over the anxiety that loneliness brought.

Over there.

She was there. **Finally. Finally!**

Her perfect profile was what he found. The ecstasy washed over him. That music, that scent, that smile, everything would be alright.

When he reached for her...

 _Hello_. Her cheeks glistened. The red-rimmed eyes of gray startled him away. His heel landed behind him.

Wrong. **No...**

 _Hello?_ She hiccuped, pressing her hands over her mouth. _Hello, help! Hello, is anyone there? Please h-help, I'm hurt!_

She staggered this way, that way, whipping around. He watched her, swaying as if she couldn't choose a direction. Her figure became smaller as she moved farther away from him.

 _Mommy_ , she wailed, _D-Daddy..._

 _Help..._

 _Help..._

Then she turned and started to run. Some unseen pursuer forced her in his direction. He was fixed to the same spot, overwhelmed by his anxiousness.

She stumbled into his arms, her scarlet hands tangled in his shirt.

Her breath was frigid on his face. Her twintails were ragged, dampened by more sticky redness, and she was littered with weeping cuts. Her eyes were crushed. Crystals dangled from her long lashes.

He wanted to wipe them away, but they became stuck like this, with infinity between them, a sorrowful gap that they could not close to reach each other.

 _I-it's so cold...i-i-t h-urt-ts..._

 **Why are you still here, with me of all people?**

 _Hello?_

Rewinding like a movie, back to that scene, trembling gray bars that swept up and down her face.

 _Hello?_

 **Oh, that's right. I'm the only one who can hear you...**

 _Hello, hello, help -_

She was here, hurt and frightened and completely alone somehow, leaning on him without touching him, depending on him without knowing him.

 **...This is a distress signal.**

 _I-it's so cold..._

"It's too cold."


End file.
